Salted Caramel
by MyTwiDreams
Summary: Revenge is best served cold. I'm not a vindictive woman; normally I am sweet and lovable.I'd do anything for the ones I love, which is why I created a perfect plan to see Volturi and his precious restaurant fall.I am ready to set my plan into action. But there's a problem. My new girlfriend, a brilliant chef, works for Volturi./Bellice/AH/Femslash
1. Chapter 1

[Disclaimer] Stephenie Meyer owns everything Twilight. I own the plot for this story.

[A/N] Welcome to my new project. I hope you'll enjoy reading it.

The chapter below is dedicated to my girlfriend; for her love, support, and for giving me salted caramel chocolate for my birthday.

* * *

_*All you need is love. But a little chocolate now and then doesn't hurt*_

_(Charles M. Schulz)_

**Chapter One**

_I hate cooking._

The women in my family have always cooked. My mother is a chef. Her mother and grandmother worked in a kitchen too. We are destined to spend our lives in front of hot stoves. From the moment the slave ship brought my ancestors here; we have been dragged into the kitchen to stay there until we take our last breath.

I dislike cooking greatly, but I know it's the reason why we survived. Cooking was less vigorous than working in the cotton fields.

Over the course of time we have developed the most sensitive taste buds. I love having the different spices tickle my tongue. I enjoy tasting creamy sauces and juicy steaks with rosemary or garlic seasoning.

What I do hate is preparing the food myself. I hate to have my hair smell like fried chicken. I dislike being unable to scrub away the smell of onions from my fingers. Mom's hands have never been without Band-Aids, blisters, and burn wounds as long as I can remember. Regardless, she claims that she loves cooking. It brings her happiness. I think she does it because it's all she knows.

I am the first one in my family who has managed to break free from the job in the kitchen. My parents tried hard to convince me to become a chef. They sent me to an expensive French culinary school in London. I clenched my teeth, forcing myself to stay at that awful place for over a year until I finally dared to quit. Some lucky stranger got my place instead.

My Dad never said a word about ten thousand dollars that had been wasted for nothing. He told me that I should always do what makes me happy; and my happiness is everything to him. He claims that I am my parents' greatest happiness.

When Mom got pregnant with me, my English grandmother asked Dad, if Mom and he were sure about what they were doing. She didn't like her only son marrying a black girl. She disliked the thought of him having a mixed child even more.

I am a love child. I am a child that had a pink-painted nursery two years before she was born. I have my father's green eyes and my mother's hourglass figure. My skin is both of theirs melted together into a soft caramel shade. Maybe that is what I am.

_Salted caramel_

I'm sweet and spicy combined together into something completely new. I can speak like a fine English lady and curse like I was raised in the gutter.

"The caramel, Alice! Give me the caramel, child."

I jump back from the stove, lifting the pan with the sizzling hot sugar lava up and carry it over to my aunt. She shakes her head, clicking her tongue in disapproval.

"You are always dreaming, child." Her fingers grab the handle of the pan. She hums while she pours the caramel over the apple pie. "This is exactly like Mamma used to make the pie. It's her recipe."

My lips mouth a no behind my aunt Sasha's back. If she knew how wrong she is. Grandma never used red apples for the pie. She always put the green ones in. There has never been hazelnut in the dough. Grandma claimed walnuts would add a better aroma to the pie.

Tears start to make my eyes water. I step closer to the other side of the kitchen, where my cousin Tanya is eagerly cutting onions. They are a good enough excuse to cry. Today is supposed to be a happy day. I don't want to ruin it for Mom and Aunt Sasha.

The opening of their little restaurant is a big thing for them. They have both worked so hard to get everything together.

"Breathe through your mouth, Alice." Mom tells me, petting my head tenderly. "That helps."

I sniff and wipe my running nose on the apron I'm wearing. This ugly cotton apron is just another reason why I detest working in the kitchen so much. Aprons are suitable clothing for old women. The thought of that instantly makes my heart cramp inside my chest.

Don't think about her; I tell myself. Like always when you are trying to avoid thoughts of her, they torture you mercilessly.

"Why do I have to be here? I am only in the way." I tell Mom, who is rearranging the parsley on a plate of mashed potatoes for the third time now. She's nervous. There is no reason for her to be. Mom's garlic mashed potatoes are divine. It's like having a comfy home and a Mediterranean garden on your tongue at the same time.

Tanya throws the onions into a bowl and puts down her knife. She grins at me. "Maybe they think you are going to write a better report on the restaurant if you've seen how much work there is behind the food."

I roll my eyes. It's not like I don't know how kitchen work is. I know how it's like to have your back and feet killing you from standing all day long; and how your eyes burn like fire when you rub them after having sliced up a chili pepper moments ago.

"Jasper is writing the report. I would be biased. It wouldn't be fair to the readers."

Irina's eyes light up as soon as I mention my co-worker. My cousin has a soft spot for him. I don't have the heart to tell her that Jasper is gay, like baby-blue cotton candy.

In the corner of the kitchen someone sighs dreamily.

"And then he wrapped his ivory skinned thighs around her ebony body and both of them—"

"Katrina! Put that shameless book away now and bring me the carrots." Aunt Sasha snaps at her youngest daughter. "I am going to burn this piece of junk when you are sleeping."

My cousin cradles the book against her chest like she's trying to protect it from her mother. "Mom, you need to read this. It's about real love!" She sighs dreamily. "White men are so romantic."

Sasha grabs the book from Kate and smacks it over her head. "Romantic! I'll give you romantic. Stop reading and go back to work. Oh and just so you know, I haven't heard of any pirate kings coming to snag away beautiful black women from their village in a while."

Kate's full mouth morphs into a wide grin. "Mom! You read it. Don't try to deny it."

"Well, I was curious in what you are sticking that nose of yours into twenty-four-seven. A mother needs to know. Esme, you can't imagine what the kid is reading. Those are naughty books. I haven't blushed as much as that in my fifty years."

Mom laughs. The fine lines around her brown eyes get a bit deeper. She and I exchange a look between confidantes in crime. "I am sure it's not as bad as you say. Don't be such a prude."

"Cynara Parker is a true romantic." Kate sighs, stirring slowly in a pot on the stove. "Mom, I am telling you it's like that woman knows my secret wishes and wrote them down."

Aunt Sasha clicks her tongue. She takes the spoon from her daughter's hand and tastes the sauce. "Yuck. Now you put too much salt into it."

She smacks Kate against the back of her head. "Stop dreaming while you are at work, girl."

Tanya giggles. Telling Kate to stop dreaming has the same effect as telling a fish not to swim, or a bird to not spread its wings and fly. I envy her. My cousin still has the naïve faith of someone whose heart hasn't been broken before.

My phone beeps. It's Jasper, texting me that he's here to do the report on my family's restaurant. I have instructed him to not write any crap, but he can't lie either. That would make us loose the credibility our loyal readers grant us.

"Mom, Jasper is here. Is the food ready?" I hate how nervous I sound. I don't know a single person who has ever disliked my mother's cooking, but still. If Jasper decides he doesn't like the homemade food being served here, it will be awkward.

My mother kisses my cheek and tells me to head outside and greet Jasper. Irina frowns. I can barely hold back from laughing. She is so cute in the way she's crushing on him.

"Hi, Heartless," He waves his hand at me and grins a lopsided smile. "I don't have to test anything you cooked. Have I?"

I make a fist and punch him against his left side. He whines. Jasper is such a pussy. I didn't even use all my strength.

"I helped because it's the first day and it means a lot to my Mom that I'm here today."

He nods, then grabs my hand to do this ridiculous hand-kissing thing. Someone told him it's sophisticated and romantic. Someone should tell him it's embarrassing and ridiculous.

"Would you like wine with your food?" I ask, pulling the chair out for him. He sits down and places his arms on the crisp white linen.

"Chardonnay, if you have some."

I nod my head, rolling my eyes when I turn my back at him. Does he think I am stupid? That bottle of white wine, his favorite, has been waiting for him in the fridge for two days now. It needs to be served at a perfectly chilled temperature.

After getting the wine for Jasper, I sit down across from him and fold my hands on the table. I look around, admiring the freshly-painted walls and the piano standing in the corner. In a couple of hours the entire restaurant will be filled with hungry guests. The day after tomorrow when the new edition of Culinary Jewels comes out, there will hopefully be even more guests.

Mom and Aunt Sasha have worked so hard on making the restaurant a beautiful place. They claim they want it to mimic my grandparents' restaurant back in Georgia. Mom did an amazing job on using old black and white pictures, of the original place, to decorate the walls.

On one of the pictures, Nana Di is standing with a flower printed apron. Her hair is big. Her smile is bigger. Mom is only a toothless five-year-old sitting on the counter next to her.

My fingertips caress the frame of the picture, wiping a bit dust away from it. If only you could wipe the dust from a dusty memory to refresh it.

"She was pretty." Jasper says, nipping on the wine. "Your grandmother was a beautiful woman. I am sorry about—"

"Oh there's your first dish." I interrupt him midsentence. Why do people who know, always feel like they need to tell me they are sorry for me about my grandmother's condition? No words of comfort are going to make a difference.

Irina's hand is quivering when she places the porcelain plate in front of the object of her desire. She stutters, trying to tell him to enjoy his meal.

He grants her a small smile and places his napkin on his lap. I wonder if he's worried about ruining his designer jeans with gravy.

Both, Irina and I keep our eyes on Jasper's mouth while he chews a small bite of the chicken casserole. He swallows slowly. Then he tries Mom's mashed potatoes and his eyes shut down. He sighs, licking the edge of his mouth.

"Do you like it?" She asks, rocking back and forth on her ballet flats. "You do like it, right?"

Jasper wipes his lips on the napkin and takes another sip from the sixty dollar wine in his glass. "It's classic with a refreshing modern twist. I like the lemongrass in the sauce. That was very creative combined with the red onions and the pink pepper."

"That was Irina's idea." I tell him. "She's going to attend a culinary school in Paris, in the fall."

He smiles. "Yeah Paris, the town of love or whatever we claim love to be."

I kick his leg underneath the table. We discussed this. I told him that he needs to tell Irina her love interest in him is fruitless. He's supposed to do it in a nice way. I care too much about my cousin to see her unhappy.

An hour later, Kate is serving strawberries filled with dark chocolate to our special guest while back in the kitchen Irina is stuffing white chocolate into her mouth. Her tears are the sullen tears of a child. It hurt her pride more than her heart when Jasper casually mentioned his boyfriend back home.

"He doesn't even look gay," She whines, breaking off another piece from the chocolate. It disappears between her lips. "Gay men are supposed to look gay, to give a warning to women to not fall in love with them."

My mother and aunt laugh. Sasha hugs her daughter and kisses her temple. "Honey, many men are going to turn you down in your life. You need to learn to suck it up and not cry over it."

She cuts a piece from the caramel crusted apple pie up and places it on a plate. "Here honey, eat something."

Irina has just eaten a diabetic causing amount of chocolate, but whatever helps her to forget Jazz, I am fine with it. My aunt's solution to every problem in the world is food. Have a broken heart? Eat something sweet to heal it up. Have a sore throat? Try some lemon-juiced chicken soup.

It's a miracle none of her four children are overweight.

"Mom, I'm going home now to check on Nana." I tell my mother, hugging her tightly. "Tell Edward I said hi when he shows up here."

My older brother and I aren't on the best of terms. He's been a dick to his girlfriend, and when I stepped up for Jessica he didn't appreciate it much. Men are morons.

I wrap two slices of the apple pie with foil and put on my jacket. After a quick goodbye to the involuntary heartbreaker, I walk outside.

Tanya follows me. "Wait, you forgot the potatoes and the chicken." She places two Tupperware boxes into my arms. I store them next to the pie on the passenger's seat.

She clears her throat, attempting to keep her loud voice low when she speaks up. "This would have been a good opportunity you know."

Crossing my arms in front of my chest, I rub my fingers up and down my lower arms to keep them from getting cold. Barely unable to keep the frown from my face, I play dumb.

"Good opportunity for what, T?"

She pulls on my hair. The movement is fast and painful. Suddenly I feel like I am a chubby seven-year-old again. My cousins have teased me my whole childhood about my hair. When I got older I discovered they were jealous. They were jealous because my hair is soft and wavy while theirs is frizzy and untamable without chemical help.

"Ouch," I cry out. "That hurt, Bitch!"

Tanya laughs, but the smile on her lips freezes within seconds. "Better a bitch than a dyke too chicken to come out."

"Shhh!" I hiss, pressing my hands against my cousin's mouth. Tanya is my best friend. She knows me better than anyone else. We are best friends because both of us have a tendency to speak our mind whether people want to hear it or not. Right now, I don't want to hear the truth though. We have been through this over and over.

"I will tell them when I'm ready." I state, sitting down in the driver's seat. My hands clench around the steering wheel. "I promise to tell them when I am ready."

"You've been saying this for years now." Tanya reproaches. "Your parents are not my mom. They will still love you."

"I know." I mumble. "I know they will accept me the way I am. I am just not ready to have this conversation with them yet."

She hugs me good-bye; while telling me again that it's time to come out to my parents. The only person in my family, who knows about my sexual preference, is Tanya. My cousin doesn't count though. If I told her I murdered someone, she would just shrug her shoulders and ask me if I need help getting rid of the corpse.

On my way back home, I hum along to the music on the radio. I've done it all wrong, I scold myself. If I had come out to Mom and Dad right after my first kiss with Leah in the ninth grade, everything would have been much easier.

I could have come out after I came back from London. My heart flutters a bit faster when the memories begin to play in my head. They are right, that people lose their restraints far away from home. In England, I spent my days with French cooking. At night I brought other kinds of French to perfection.

I never fell in love with one of my encounters. There has never been anyone who captured my feelings. At some times I thought someone had. I was wrong through.

Real love is supposed to make you feel free. It's supposed to make you grow, and bring out the best in you. It's simple. Complicated love stories are only good on paper.

My lips twitch into a smile when I remember Kate's new found obsession with Cynara Parker's smut novels. I shake my head. I wonder if she would still like them as much if she knew the truth behind them…if she knew who Cynara Parker really is.

In front of my parents' house, I turn off the radio and kill the engine. There are twenty steps from the garage to the house. I move slower with each one of them. Everything inside me resists. I move forward though, because I have to. I have to try and be strong for her.


	2. Chapter 2

[Disclaimer] Stephenie Meyer owns everything Twilight. I own the plot for this story.

[A/N] Thank you for the reviews. I love those. Also, thank you to those of you who put the story on their favorites. I am happy that you enjoy my writing.

* * *

_*Don't ever put a fence down until you know why it was put up.*_

_(Robert Frost)_

**Chapter 2**

She's a ghost.

The woman, who is lying on the bed in front of me, is a ghost. She is an empty shell. Her dry lips move upwards into a polite smile when she sees me. It's the smile for a kind stranger, not for a loved one. For Nana Di, we are all strangers now.

There are post-it notes glued to the wall next to her bed. They are from a time when she was still fighting against the forgetting. Nobody can fight the memory-eating monster inside her head. It made her forget her own children. It makes her forget whether or not she has brushed her teeth after breakfast, or the way back home from church.

There are still fragments inside her brain, little sparks of memories the monster hasn't fed on yet.

I hate Alzheimer. It's stealing my grandmother away from me without any chance of letting her go.

"What's for dinner, Sugar?" she asks, sitting up a bit straighter against the pillows behind her.

"Chicken and mashed potatoes." I tell her, placing the tray on her lap. My fingers tie the napkin around her neck to avoid any spills on her night gown. "Do you like chicken, Nana?"

She nods, but her eyes stare through me. She's always doing that. I like to imagine that one day the holes in her brain will be filled again. That one day she will smile at me and call me by my name. I would do anything for that to happen.

I cut the chicken and dip it into the gravy; then lift the fork to her mouth. She chews slowly while her eyes wander around the room. She looks up at the ceiling. Her gaze goes over to the closed window and finally to the white-framed pictures on her nightstand.

"Is it past seven now?" she asks, taking the fork from me to stir it through the mashed potatoes. She sighs when she tastes the creamy potatoes on her tongue. Alzheimer can't take away her taste buds. Grandma doesn't remember her own name, but her mouth still remembers her favorite foods.

"Is it past seven now?" Nana repeats her question. "My husband needs to be home by then."

I slice up the rest of the chicken and encourage her to eat a bit more of it. Protein is good for her. She has lost so much weight since she broke her hip last month.

"I bet he's working overtime again." She states, nibbling on a piece of chicken. "He's so stupid. They aren't going to pay him for the extra hours. Only dumb people work for free."

She finishes her meal with a deep sigh. "Are you my new nurse, Sugar?"

I shake my head. "I'm your granddaughter."

Nana's eyes become bigger. "I have a granddaughter?"

I take her wrinkly hand in mine and squeeze it gently. "You have four granddaughters and two grandsons."

Her lips press into a tight line. I wait for her to ask another question. She used to ask a lot of questions until her accident, when she slipped inside the bathtub. Who I was? Where was she? Why she couldn't remember how she got there?

"Is it past seven now?"

"It's around half past nine." I state. "Do you want me to read you something until it's sleep time?"

She nods tiredly. "He's so stupid for working overtime again. Aro Volturi found himself some simpleton with my husband."

I pet the frizzy gray hair on Nana's head. Mom says it's a waste of time to do her hair anymore. I don't agree with that. Looking nice was always important to Nana Di.

While I search for a book on the shelf standing in the corner of her room, a note book falls into my hands. It's scribbled full with cooking recipes. Among those are diary entries, though.

I hesitate. Reading Nana's diary is overstepping the lines of her privacy. It's wrong. However, forgetting one's life is wrong too. I need to read the diary.

When I turn back to my grandmother, she's passed out again. The new medication makes her drowsy all the time. At least she's not aggressive anymore. For a long time she was angry that Dad couldn't fix her condition. My father is only a doctor, not a miracle worker.

After bringing the tray back into the kitchen, I head back upstairs to check on Nana again. She's sleeping peacefully. I wrap the blanket a bit higher on her. My lips touch against her forehead.

"I miss you," I whisper, choking back tears. I hate that I always struggle holding back tears when I am near her. "Please, come back to me."

My chest feels too tight. I lean my head against the cold glass of the window. Then I remember the diary again. I grab it from the nightstand and walk out of the room.

Downstairs in the kitchen I pull out a glass and fill it with the blush wine we had with our lunch yesterday. It's cheap and fruity. I savor the rich taste of strawberries and summer on my tongue.

Wine like this always ends up giving me a headache like I sat in the sun for too long.

I flip the diary open. There's the recipe for the caramel crusted apple pie. It's asking for green apples, not the sweeter red ones. See? I knew it. I take another gulp from the wine. It fills my empty stomach with a pleasant warmth.

The phone rings. It's Tanya, informing me that she and the girls are going out after the restaurant closes tonight. I don't feel like dressing up, but I know my cousin won't take no for an answer.

"I'll pick your ass up at midnight, Cinderella." She laughs into the receiver before disconnecting the call.

My eyes stay glued on the little book in front of me on the table for hours. It's comforting to read through Nana's recipes. I can almost taste the food in my mouth.

The diary entries are short.

_I went to the bank again, but they still refuse to give us the credit. What more can I do?_

I flip to the next page and caress the ink on the paper with my fingertip.

_How are we supposed to keep the girls in a good school when money is so tight?_

The next few pages of the diary stick together. There's something sticky on the pages. Maybe she was cooking while writing in it.

My fingers flip though the book. I miss her so much. If she were dead, I couldn't be missing her more. Right now, she's gone but still alive. She's nothing but a ghost. I dig deeper into her lost past as I continue reading.

* * *

A couple of hours later my head is slightly dizzy from the wine. I am sitting squeezed between Tanya and Kate who are pushing a cocktail into my hands.

"White Russian." Tanya states, lovingly wrapping an arm around my shoulder. "Maybe it will help you lose that frown on your pretty face."

I sit up straighter, running my fingers though my hair. Usually I prefer straightening it when going out, but tonight I lost so much time reading Nana's diary. It's fascinating to me.

"She has no reason to frown." Irina states before gulping down her own drink by tilting her head back. She is the only one of my cousins who can handle alcohol worse than me. "My heart is broken."

Tanya runs her short fingernail along the edge of her glass to wipe a droplet of milk from its edge. "Get over it. You guys weren't even together."

"But we could have been." Her sister demands. "Imagine what pretty kids we could've had together."

I roll my eyes and nip on my cocktail. Like dating and cute guys are the only topics to talk about. In my head I count from one to ten. It won't take long until they start asking me those annoying questions again.

"We need to find a boyfriend for Alice. She might die a virgin." Irina says, holding her hand up to order new drinks for us. "Our pretty milk-chocolate heart over here is so shy."

Being shy and being gay while trying to hide it is two very different things. When I tell Kate or Irina, I might as well leave a post-it on my parents' fridge too. My cousins tell their mother everything. Aunt Sasha tells Mom everything. They are joined at the hip.

"Maybe Alice is just picky," Tanya states, squeezing my knee under the table. "Aren't I right, Sugar?"

The fake smile on my lips freezes colder than the ice cubes in my cocktail.

_Sugar_

Tanya knows me well enough to realize that something is wrong. "Are you okay?" she whispers, leaning closer to me.

I reach for the bowl with honey-crusted peanuts on the table and nibble on them. I should have eaten before we got here. "It's Nana." I tell her. "She always calls me Sugar."

My cousin sips on her drink. Tanya always manages to look like a lady while she is gulping down the hard stuff. "I know she calls you Sugar, Sugar."

I lift my glass to my mouth, smearing the lip gloss mark from it after putting it back on the table. "I wish she knew who I am."

Kate takes my hand and clasps it between hers. "We all wish she could get better again."

My mouth feels dry. I drink the remainder of my cocktail and order a soda. I need to slow down with drinking. Otherwise I will end the night throwing up.

"I found her diary today." I tell my cousins, taking a few more of the peanuts into my hand to nibble on them. What a sophisticated dinner for a restaurant critic. Aren't the peanuts in bars full of germs? I better not think of it.

"Did you read it?" Irina wants to know. It's her older sister who answers for me. "Of course, Ali has read it. Wouldn't you have read the diary, if you had been the one to find it? You love sticking your nose in other people's business all the time, Irina." Tanya says, sitting up straight to push out her chest when two guys pass by our table.

"Diaries are so romantic." Kate sighs loudly. "One of Cynara Parker's novels, Lovers under the Stars, is written entirely in Princess' Lydia's diary entries."

Tanya folds her arms on the table and starts playing with her silver bracelets. "Hello? We are talking about Grandma here, not some bullshit fake princess."

Kate sticks her pierced tongue out at her sister. "The only thing fake around here is your polyester hair." She tugs on one of Tanya's braids. "How can you dare to insult my heroine?"

"I bet Cynara Parker is a fat woman who lives with ten cats." Tanya teases her younger sister. "That's how you are going to end up too, if you keep on waiting for a fairytale prince."

She stands up, tugging her shirt a bit lower so that it falls over her right shoulder. In the corner of the club a brown-haired guy waves his hand at her. Tanya sure doesn't bother to wait for a man to make the first step. I admire her courage. She knows what she wants and isn't afraid to go for it.

Kate asks me about the diary. I mention the cooking recipes. However, I don't mention the other things I read in it. The countless struggles with money that Nana mentions. How she had to clean other people's houses at night to help keep their small restaurant running. It would have worked out fine for them. Nana and Grandpa were both hard workers. In the end they still had to sell the restaurant. According to the diary, he took it a lot worse than she.

"I knew he wasn't gay!" Irina calls out, smacking my arm so hard that I cry out in pain. "There's Jasper." She says, pointing to the entrance of the club. Next to Jasper is a Blonde. She's pretty but a bit too bony. Her long hair is pushed over her left shoulder, exposing a collarbone meant for kissing.

This is the dangerous thing about going out to straight clubs. You end up seeing beautiful girls that are completely off-limits.

Jasper puts his arm around the woman's waist and bends down to kiss her head. My cousin next to me mimics a puking noise.

"Look at that skinny ass! I knew he wasn't really gay. Maybe he just doesn't like black girls. Fucking racist!"

Kate laughs. "If I was a cute white guy, I'd be scared of you too. You suffocate men with your emotions."

"Stupid bitch! What do you know about love? You only know what's in your books." Irina snaps. "Alice, you are on my side, right? Tell me Jasper is not with that skinny white thing. Tell me she's his sister?"

I know that Jasper's twin sister, Rosalie, is heavily pregnant now with her first child. I watch fascinated how the object of my cousin's hate tortures her lower lip as if it was bubblegum. Her eyes wander around in the club like she wants to run away. She looks like Bambi right after his mother was shot.

My hand reaches for my cocktail. The ice has melted, making the milk and vodka taste watery. With a sigh I drink it down and stand up. "I'm going to say hi to Jasper. Save your temper for someone who deserves it."

Bambi Eyes doesn't smile at me when I step closer towards her and my co-worker. Her mouth is without a hint of lipstick on it. There's a bit mascara on her lashes but that's the only make-up she's wearing. I smile when I notice the freckles on the tip of her nose. Freckles are cute.

"Hey, Mr. Hale." I greet Jasper. "Are you switching teams now?"

He grabs a beer from the counter behind him and takes a long draft while I admire Bambi Eye's beauty. Her eyes are dark, a warm rich brown color with tiny gold flecks sprinkled all over them. My eyes move from the sharp lines of her collarbone down to her chest. Her breasts are small enough that she can go without a bra. Through the material of her sleeveless top, I can see a nipple getting a bit hard under the stretchy material.

"If I ever switch teams you'll be the first to know, Cullen." Jasper laughs. "By the way, this is my friend Bella. Bella, this is Alice Cullen. We work together at Culinary Jewels."

Bambi's mouth curls a bit upwards. It's like she hasn't smiled in a very long time, and has forgotten how to control the muscles in her mouth the right way.

I reach my hand out. Hers is small, cold and very soft. I rub my thumb over the back of her hand for a bit too long. She pulls back, hiding her hand in the pocket of her jeans. I don't want her to feel uncomfortable around me.

"It's nice to meet you." I tell her, leaning closer to speak into her ear so she can hear me over the music thundering around us.

It's the alcohol, that's making me braver than I usually am. I make it my goal to make Bambi Eyes smile at me tonight. "Likewise," she mumbles. Then I order Martinis for me and her. Jasper smirks like the moron he is and disappears through the back entrance of the club's kitchen. Thank you for leaving your friend alone with a complete stranger, asshole. Jasper is the most insensitive gay man I have met in my life.

"God, I'm starving." Bella calls out, snatching a couple of cocktail cherries from a bowl to stuff them into her mouth. Girl looks like she hasn't eaten in a while.

She steals an entire handful of olives from the bartender too. He smiles at her. _Fucker_

From across the room, Irina waves her hands. There is no way I am going to introduce them to each other. Bambi Eyes is no match for my love sick cousin. Iri can be such a bitch when she's frustrated. Damn it. Why do I feel like I need to protect Bambi from her?

"Would you mind going outside with me for a moment?" I ask her, fighting the urge to run my fingertip over that kissable collarbone. She's fragile. Mom would force her to eat syrup-covered bacon with every meal. I watch fascinated how Bambi – I need to force myself to remember her real name is Bertha…I mean Bella. I wrote a report about an Italian restaurant a while ago that was called Bella Italia. My feedback on their mushroom ravioli didn't win me over, for the chef there. Canned mushrooms are unacceptable.

"Are you too warm?" she asks back. "It's sticky in here. Isn't it? I had forgotten how clubs can be."

We head outside. I enjoy the view of her apple-shaped ass. I've always considered jeans to be boring. They definitely aren't boring on her. Right between where her shirt has rolled up a bit, I can see a strip of pale skin with a blue-inked tattoo. I want to see how deep the flower twine goes.

I want to see more of her.

I get to see more of her nipples as they tighten in the icy night air. My mouth is dying to close around the little nub and suck hard. I feel tempted to do a lot of things.

"Do you want an olive too?" Bella asks. "These are good. Not as good as the ones I had in Italy, but still good."

"You've been to Italy?"

We sit down on the fire escape behind the club. It's quiet. Despite the music, you can still hear out here.

"I went to Tuscany after finishing school last summer. It was lovely. You should go sometime."

"How about we go there together?" I ask, placing my hand on her knee. If she's not completely slow, she'll get the hint and will stop me. I need her to stop me; because I know I won't be the one doing it.


	3. Chapter 3

[Disclaimer] Stephenie Meyer owns everything Twilight. I own the plot for this story.

[A/N] This chapter is dedicated to my friend Leslie for making me a pretty banner to go with this fic.

* * *

_Wine is how classy people get wasted_

_(Unknown)_

** Chapter 3**

I wake up naked and with the worst headache of my life.

My throat feels like I swallowed razor blades. My nose is blocked. I sniff and reach for the box with tissues on my nightstand. It's not there. I open my eyes, realizing they are burning like fire. I rub them, sighing deeply.

When I look around I notice I am not home. My home would never look as messy as this.

I wrap the blanket around my body. Where are my clothes? I see that they are lying on the floor, next to a red top that doesn't belong to me. There are empty pizza boxes piled in a corner of the crowded apartment. There are piles of clothing all over the floor and dirty crusted dishes in the sink.

A weird smell makes my nose wrinkle in disgust. I sneeze loudly. Crap, now I really need a tissue. Where the hell am I?

The door opens and I jump up from the couch. The blanket falls down, exposing most of my upper body before I can pull it up again.

"Good Morning," Bambi Eyes greets me cheerfully. "Did you sleep well? You looked like a baby. I didn't want to wake you."

I am not a morning person, even on my good days. Today definitely doesn't count as a good day. I am tired. My skin feels yucky. No wonder, in all this dirt. God, I can't believe I slept here.

I can't believe I slept with her! Wait, did I sleep with her? I pinch my cheeks, trying hard to remember what happened. My memory is blurred. I remember dancing with Bambi Eyes. I remember her calling me Pumpkin. What a silly nickname.

"I should go." I mumble. The feeling of shame makes me feel small. Yes, I had one-night-stands before. But I've never been so drunk that I couldn't remember the act itself. Awkwardly, I reach for my shirt on the floor.

She places two Starbucks coffees and a paper bag on the table. It's then that I notice the books on it. Cynara Parker's entire collection is neatly piled next to an empty box of chocolate.

"I see you found my guilty pleasure." Bambi Eyes tells me, exposing her small teeth in a shy smile. It's this smile that warms my heart. It makes me forget that I am surrounded by filth. How can she live like this?

Bambi hands me one of the cups. "It has milk and sugar. I hope you like it like that."

"Milk and sugar is fine. Thank you."

I nip on the coffee. My head throbs. The awkward sourness in my throat and the burning in my eyes are worse though. I rub my eyelids again and sniff. Maybe I caught a cold. It serves me right for sitting outside without wearing a jacket. Sitting outside with Bambi Eyes is one of my last clear memories of last night. We talked about Italy, particularly about Italian food and wine. The two empty wine glasses with a dried remainder of red wine in them that are on the table, prove we didn't just talk about it. What the hell was I thinking?

"I have never done something like that before." She tells me, sitting down next to me on the couch. "I'm sorry for how it looks in here. I should have cleaned up, but I didn't expect any visitors."

"It's okay," I lie. "I really should get dressed and go home. Thank you for the coffee."

Bella picks up my clothing from the floor and points to a room on the left side. I stumble inside the little bathroom. After splashing cold water on my face and rinsing out my mouth, I get dressed as quickly as possible. My hair is tangled. I run my fingers through the curls to loosen them up a bit.

There's a scratching noise on the bathroom door. It's followed by a weird whining sound.

I finish my improvised bathroom routine by spraying a bit of deodorant under my arms. I am going to shower at home.

When I open the door again, something rubs against my ankle before it rushes inside. All I can see is a flash of ginger-colored fur.

"I bought you a blueberry muffin." Bella tells me, pushing a plate next to my coffee. "I would make you breakfast, but I don't have any clean cookware."

I nibble on the muffin. Blueberry is my favorite and yet I don't taste anything. My nose is completely blocked. I sneeze, grabbing the paper napkin from the plate to blow my nose.

My voice cracks when I speak up again. "Did we?" I stutter; feeling terribly embarrassed about my question. I need to know though. I need to know if we had sex.

Her cheeks turn crimson. The pink is lovely against her white skin. "You don't remember it?"

Now it's my turn to blush. My face feels like it's glowing. This is embarrassing. It's not like me to lose control like that. I rarely have more than two glasses of wine and I always make sure to eat something with that. I don't drink myself into a half-delirium. That's stupid and dangerous. I've seen with my own eyes what alcohol can do to a person. Fuck, I am so ashamed of myself right now.

"Nothing happened." Bella tells me, sipping on her coffee. "You wanted to. I couldn't stop you from taking off your clothes." Her face turns into an even brighter shade of pink. "Your figure is lovely by the way."

I hate that she has seen me naked and I can't say the same about her. Or at least I can't remember it. I would love to remember that.

"Why am I here?" I ask, realizing that my voice sounds raspy. I am really getting sick, and that would be bad timing with my next assignment coming up. I feel honored that my boss has chosen me to write the report about Volterra Dining. No way, will I let this job go to Jasper. It's too big of an opportunity for me. I sniff again. If anything goes wrong, I can still judge the food by the way it looks. Gosh, I hate being sick.

My eyes hurt. They are dry and burning like fire. Maybe I should have gotten the shot against the flu when Dad suggested it.

Bella gets up and starts an awkward attempt of cleaning up the mess around here. She grabs a black plastic bag and throws everything into it. After she opens the window, I feel like I can breathe a bit better for the first time since I woke up.

"I'm so sorry for how it looks in here." She apologizes again and again. "Please don't think this is how I usually am. I just went through a rough time."

I blow my nose again and cough. "It's fine. Can you tell me why I went home with you last night?"

She sits down again. Her hands grab a copy of "The Secret Princess" to place it carefully on top of the other books. "Your friends were suddenly gone and you needed a ride. So, we shared a taxi."

"I should have gone home." I tell her. "I am sorry you saw me drunk like that. I didn't have time to eat dinner, that's why the wine affected me like that."

Bella walks over to the sink with the dirty dishes and pulls a green glass bottle out. She holds it up, giving me time to read the label. Shit, I gulped down an Italian treasure of a wine while I was drunk. I need to make sure to get her another bottle as compensation.

"Why didn't you eat dinner?" Bella asks, filling the sink with hot steaming water and dishwashing liquid. "Are you on a diet?"

Someone with a lower self-esteem than mine would be highly offended by her question. I am not. I know my figure is lovely. I am curvy in all the right places. When I put on some extra weight, which rarely happens, it goes straight to my boobs.

"No, I'm not on a diet. Are you on one?" I ask back, noticing the way her collarbones are too sharp under her skin. "If yes, it's about time you stop it now, before you get too thin."

Crap, now I made her feel ashamed. She grabs a grey sweater and pulls it over her head to cover up her shoulders. "Jasper said I look anorexic. I didn't even realize how much weight I have lost."

Something in my chest cramps. I feel bad for her. A wave of love pity hits me. It's the same feeling I used to get as a kid whenever I saw a dirty stray dog that I wanted to take home with me.

"Were you sick?" I ask, clasping my hands together to avoid touching her. Yes, she has seen me naked, but still, touching her while I am sober would be something way too intimate.

"Does a broken heart count as being sick?" she says, her mouth twitching into a tortured looking half-smile. "A broken heart can make you sick. In "The Pirate's Island the heroine-,"

"She almost dies from grieving her lost lover," I state. "Love is not like it is described in those books. They are based on a fantasy."

Her brown eyes light up, like something set them on fire. She grabs the book on top of the pile and cradles it lovingly against her chest. "They are about real love."

"They are about fantasy love. Love is not about finding treasures on hidden islands."

Now she frowns. She kisses the cover of the book and places it back on the other books before she carries them over to a crowded bookshelf in the corner of the room.

"You are unromantic, like my ex. I really thought she was the one, you know? We were planning on having a commitment ceremony." She sighs and sits down next to me, grabbing a pillow to hug it tightly. "How can you be so wrong about a person? When she got me Pumpkin, I really thought that meant something."

Her girlfriend buys her vegetables and she interprets that as a hidden marriage proposal? Women are dumb sometimes.

The flash of ginger fur runs past me. It jumps on the couch and right on top of the pillow on Bella's lap. The ginger flash turns out to be the fattest, ugliest, orange tabby cat I have ever seen. His face is round with a white dot in the middle. He purrs when Bella starts to pet its big head.

"There you are Pumpkin. Say hi to Alice."

My nose tickles. I sneeze and stand up from the couch. I ended up with a crazy cat woman. Yeah Cullen, you sure can pick them.

"Thanks for the coffee," I mumble. "I really have to go now."

I almost run outside. It takes me a long fifteen minute walk to the bus station. I can't even remember the last time I had to ride a bus. My phone is dead though. So calling Tanya, a taxi, or even Dad to come and pick me up is out of the question.

By the time I reach my parents' home, my feet are burning. Stupid heels! I am going to spend the next hour in the tub, scrubbing my skin until its prickling.

When I enter the house, Dad is sitting in the kitchen. It smells like fresh coffee and bacon. I hug him from behind and steal a strip of bacon from his plate. It's crispy and deliciously salty in my mouth. It's the small things that are heaven on earth. Bacon definitely counts as one of them.

"How was your shift?" I ask my father, licking the rest of greasy bacon from my fingertips. "You look tired."

He looks me over, his green eyes getting a bit smaller. "You look like you just got home. Where have you been all this time?"

I consider telling him that I woke up at a stranger's house. A stranger who owns Cynara Parker's completed collection of passionate romance novels. He sure would like the second part.

"I was out," I mumble. "And I feel sick. My throat hurts." I tell him, reaching for the non-existent tissue in my pockets again. "Maybe I am getting this flu that's going around."

Dad examines me quickly. His fingers are cold when he presses them against my forehead. "Doesn't look like you have a fever," He mumbles. "Why are your eyes so red?"

I hate the tone he uses when he says the last part. Dad should know that I'm not Edward. I would never smoke, especially not _that_ stuff.

"I don't know. They burn like fire. I woke up like that."

"Did you sleep at Tanya's place?" Dad asks, pulling some eye drops out of the cabinet above the sink. Our house is better stocked with medical supplies than any pharmacy.

"Lean back," he orders before he carefully drips the eye drops into my eyes. I blink and sigh in relief. Much better like this.

"Thanks," I whisper, reaching for the jug with orange juice on the table. It's freshly squeezed. That means Mom must have made it. She insists the stuff you can buy at the supermarket is inedible.

"Is Mom sleeping?" I ask, sipping on the refreshing juice. Dad places two small pills of ibuprofen on the table and tells me to swallow them. A few minutes later I start feeling much better. This is why it's great to have a doctor for a father.

He shakes his head. "She's at the retirement home with your aunt."

I smack my hand against the table with so much force that a sharp pain rushes through my palm. They can't do that. I won't let it happen.

"Mom said she would never put Nana into a retirement home. She promised." My eyes fill with tears. I always seem to cry when I get mad. It sucks.

Dad takes my hand and squeezes it gently. "Honey, I know you're angry."

"When you and Mom are old, I'll do that to you too." I snap at him. "Nana helped you raise me. How can you do that to her? This house is her home."

He nods and pushes his chair closer to mine. There's a notebook on the table. I read the word pirate and captured princess on it. The rest is smeared in Dad's messy handwriting.

"I know this is hard. It's hard for your mother too." He states, wrapping an arm around my shoulder. "Honey, we can't take care of her anymore here. She needs someone to watch her twenty-four hours a day. How is that supposed to work with your mother being at the restaurant all day now and me being at the hospital?"

I hate that he's right. I hate what this decision means. I can't imagine this house without her in it. But the woman who raised me is long gone. She's been stolen away from me by her horrible disease. I am angry at my parents for sending her away. Nana will die in that retirement place. I know she will.

"I'll be upstairs." I tell Dad, pouring some juice into another glass. Nana never remembers to drink enough. She never remembers anything. I hate this disease so very much.

The air in her room is sticky. It's always too warm in here. She freezes easily. I open the window and sit down on the edge of her bed. "Good Morning, Nana."

I hold the glass up for her and maneuver the straw between her lips. She sips carefully.

"You need to drink everything. Vitamin C is good for you."

She slurps, sighing deeply when she lets go of the straw after drinking about half of the glass's content.

"There was a white doctor in my room this morning." She tells me while I convince her to drink up the rest of the orange juice.

"What did he do?" I ask, pretending that it's possible to have a somewhat normal conversation with her. "Was he nice?"

"He brought me oatmeal for breakfast. What white doctor makes breakfast for an old black woman like me? I almost choked on the oatmeal. "

"That was just Dad." I tell her, placing the empty glass on her nightstand. "Was he being nice to you?"

Nana clicks her tongue, shaking her head. She presses one of her too-thin fingers against my mouth. "Be careful what you tell people about you, Sugar."

Her eyes gaze up at the ceiling before she grabs the top of her blanket to pull it higher over herself. I bend down to kiss her forehead before I get up to close the window again.

"Is it past seven now?" she asks me, starring down at her wrinkled hands like she's not sure if they truly belong to her body. "My husband knows he should call me when he's going to be late."

Maybe this is love. It means waiting for someone who never comes. It means forgetting that you are waiting for nothing. Love means being patient and impatient at the very same time.

"It's not seven yet." I whisper barely audible before I kiss Nana's forehead again. "Try to sleep some more, Nana."

I tiptoe out of her room and head to my own. There I grab a fresh set of underwear, a top, and a pair of green yoga pants. I grab the diary that's still lying on my pillow and take it with me.

Minutes later, I am sitting in a cloud of vanilla scented foam. The hot water makes me sleepy. I lean back and flip through the pages of the diary that I haven't read yet. There's a recipe for homemade bread with olives in it. I need to talk Mom into baking it some time. The itching on my skin is finally gone. It must have been the dirt in Bambi Eyes' apartment. I close my eyes and flashes of me dancing half-naked in her messy apartment rush through my head. Jeez, this is so not me. What the hell has gotten into me?

I turn the diary to the next page. The first sentence on it is smeared. I can't decipher it. The sentence below it is written in shaky letters. "Henry is dead." It says. "He killed himself."


	4. Chapter 4

[Disclaimer] Stephenie Meyer owns everything Twilight. I own the plot for this story.

[A/N] Thank you to those of who are reading my fic. Your support means a lot to me.

* * *

_There is no revenge so complete as forgiveness_

_(Josh Billings)_

**Chapter 4**

He killed himself.

Why didn't anyone in my family feel the need to tell me about my grandfather's suicide? I understand that they couldn't tell me the ugly details of his death when I was a child. Mom always told me that he died in an accident at his work place. My stomach clenches when I read through the passage in Nana's diary where she writes about how he hung himself in the basement of their house.

I read slowly, unable to keep my eyes from the pages filled with grief and accusations. Nana blames herself. She writes how she always pointed out to her husband that the restaurant was her one and everything. There are long-dried tears smeared over the pages. I feel so bad for her. I feel so bad that she lost the love her life, not once but twice.

Her disease is making her lose the people she loved all over again. I hate this so much. I hate this disease so much.

With my blanket wrapped tightly around my body, I continue reading. It's like secretly sitting on the stairs as a kid when Edward was watching some of those creepy horror movies. You know it's going to give you nightmares, but you can't look away either.

The next pages in the diary describe how Nana had to sign over the small restaurant she and Grandpa worked so hard for to a man named Aro Volturi. Nana writes that Grandpa owed this man a lot of money; and after his death she was pressured into repaying her husband's debt.

Anger spreads though me. How can someone be this heartless? How can someone take away the only source of income from a widowed mother? Why are people like that?

There is a small section at the bottom of the paragraph in which Nana mentions how Aro Volturi tore down their restaurant to build one of his hotel complexes on the lot. Aro Volturi's name is not unfamiliar to me. He's big in the tourist industry and trying to set foot in the world of High Cuisine right now. I wouldn't eat in that bastard's restaurant, even if I was close to starving to death.

I drop the diary on the carpet next to my bed. I try to sleep a bit more but whenever I close my eyes, I see a dying man hanging from a ceiling. I can't push the images away no matter how hard I try.

When the phone on my nightstand starts ringing I try to ignore it at first. The caller though is persistent and doesn't give up that easily. I bet it's Tanya who wants to know some dirty details about my shameful last night.

I pick up the phone to find myself greeted by Jasper. It's in this moment that I officially decide to hate him. He's insensitive and annoying.

"How was it?" he asks, chuckling into the receiver. "You and Swan were all over each other. I told her to move on. Who could know she would take my words this serious?"

I wrap the cord of my phone charger around my fingertip. Move on? I made out with Bambi Eyes in the Club? I was that drunk? Dear God, please tell me my gossip loving cousins haven't seen me suck faces with another woman.

"I was drunk." I tell him. "I don't remember much of what happened."

"That's too bad." Jasper says. "I just talked to Bella and her memory seems to work much better than yours, Alice."

I hum, running my fingers through the still damp curls on my head. Letting my hair dry naturally always makes it a bit too frizzy.

"Tell her I said hi," I mumble, combing through my hair with my fingertips. "How do you know her?"

Jasper coughs. "She and her brother were at the Fraternal Twin Convention two years go. Her twin brother is fucking hot, all muscles and shit. Too bad he prefers pussy over cock. What a waste."

I giggle. "I think both twins share that preference." I try to make it sound as casual as possible when I ask Jasper if he knows Bella any closer. Curiosity killed the canary, or whatever they say.

"She used to work for Forks Delight, the French restaurant across from the lake. Do you remember it from my article last month?"

I remember reading Jasper's report on the restaurant. He praised the Mousse au Chocolate with strawberry sauce as a divine culinary experience. Dad took Mom there for their last anniversary. They loved it there but when they went back a second time; they claimed that the food wasn't as good as the first time they went.

"Was Bella working as a waitress at the restaurant? "I ask, picturing her wearing a really short skirt and a ridiculous white lace apron.

"No, she worked in the kitchen." My co-worker destroys my fantasy with his answer. "Women are too emotional." Jasper rants. "It was such a stupid decision of her to give up the job there because of her ex. She had such big chances of becoming Sous chef there, but no, she had to throw in the towel because of some dumb cunt. Look at me and Peter, we are still—"

"Fuck buddies. You and Peter are still fuck buddies. The entire staff saw you jump each other's bones during the Valentine's party at the office."

Jasper laughs again. "See? That's what I mean. If you fuck where you work you need to be able to handle that…professionally. A fuck is a fuck, and a paycheck is what pays your rent."

I sit up in my bed and tuck my feet under my backside because they feel too cold. "Bella quit her job at Forks Delight because of her ex?" I ask him, realizing that I am way more curious about Bella than I should be. Maybe her ex-girlfriend broke up with her because she's so messy?

"Lauren fucked the owner's daughter to get promoted instead of Bella, who was in line for the job. She flipped when she caught them together and took it really bad."

I haven't been cheated on. I've seen Tanya's reaction though when she found out her ex, Felix was screwing her over with a tiny blonde chick. My cousin poured milk into the trunk of Felix's beloved BMW. It gave her some sickish joy of how he spent the next two weeks trying to figure out what the awful stench in his car was.

"Her ex must be some stupid bitch," I mumble. "I mean Bella is a bit weird and messy…but she's kind of cute somehow."

"You like her, don't you?" Jasper teases me. "She's your type. Isn't she? I hope she is because I gave her your phone number when she asked for it."

* * *

After a rather success less attempt to sleep a bit more, I get up and stumble to the bathroom. My right leg is prickling uncomfortably. When I come out of the bathroom, I can hear my parents arguing downstairs. It rarely happens that they have a fight. Both of them are so committed to each other. As a child, it always embarrassed me how they were constantly kissing or fondling the other one.

"You can't give him any more money." Dad says. "Esme, I warn you. You are not helping him with your behavior."

"It's my money, not yours." Mom snaps back at him. I can sense in her voice how she's close to yelling. When she yells that's always a sign she is about to lose it. "He's my son. I can't turn him down."

I sigh deeply. Of course they are fighting about my brother again. I feel bad for Mom. She feels responsible for Edward. Maybe mothers are this way with their sons. Aunt Sasha treats Vasili like a little spoiled prince.

Stepping a bit louder on the stairs than necessary, I walk down. Both of them do what they always do when they think I caught them fighting. They act as if everything is alright. I hate this. I hate when they treat me like a child who is too young to understand.

I understand my brother is an alcoholic. If you give him money, he's only going to buy more beer and whisky. Mom wants to help him, but the problem is she loves him too much to let go. I hate that Edward is doing this to her.

"Good Morning, my Darling." Mom greets me, standing up from her chair. She runs her hand over my head, making a comment on how my hair looks frizzy and I should fix it before going outside.

"Are you hungry?" Dad asks, pulling a chair out for me. He kisses my cheek. "Bet you didn't eat anything since last night."

"She didn't eat at the restaurant." Mom tells him, sitting down next to me. "Girl is going to get skinny."

It's my mother's greatest fear that I could get too thin. She is convinced it would reflect on her being unable to feed me properly. A smile flashes over my face while Dad pulls out the jar with peanut butter. My father is a lost cause in the kitchen. He's the kind of person who burns water. He gets the glass with blueberry jam and smiles at me.

"Isn't our princess pretty?" He asks Mom, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. "I'm so happy to have her home again for a few weeks."

He makes me a sandwich with the same concentrated expression on his face he probably has when he's in the OR saving lives. A peanut butter and jelly sandwich is as good as it gets for him. He perfects his masterpiece by cutting off the crusts from the bread.

"Thank you." I mumble, taking the sandwich between my hands to take a bite. This is better than any finest food I ever had to taste in my life. It's made with love, and you can't learn that at a culinary school. "I won't be here for much longer." I tell my parents while I nibble on the deliciously salty and sweet sandwich between my fingers. I lick a bit of jam from my finger and sigh. "The water damage at my apartment is supposed to be completely fixed by next week."

Living at my parent's house makes me feel like I am a forever fourteen year old instead of being treated like a twenty-five year old adult.

"Don't you like being here?" Mom asks, filling a glass with orange juice that she pushes closer to me. "This is your home. It will always be your home."

I gulp down the content of the glass, realizing how very thirsty I am. I always feel like I spent a day out in the desert after drinking too much alcohol.

"It's Nana's home too." I say in a sharp tone. "You can't send her to this awful retirement home."

Mom takes my hand and squeezes it. "I miss her too. You can't imagine how much. But we can't give her the care here, that she needs now."

She reiterates several times how Nana is going to need a nurse around the round-the-clock. "We are going to visit her every day." She promises and I nod my head, trying to ignore the unpleasant feeling of loss deep down in the pit of my stomach. It feels like we are giving up; sending her to live in the retirement home feels like we are giving up on her to me.

It's hard to give up on the people we love most. Maybe this is why Mom can't give up on Edward yet.

The rest of the day is spent in my room, reading Nana Di's diary and napping. I can't believe how tired I am.

Aro Volturi is a monster, Nana writes in the diary. He's a soulless bloodsucking monster. The devil himself would spit his pale ass out if he goes there after his death.

When I fall asleep again, I have nightmares of vampires sucking my blood while I lie there screaming. It's only four a.m. when I wake up, covered in sweat.

I take a shower and twist my hair up into a thick bun on top of my head. Since I don't feel like going back to sleep, I decide to go to work early today.

The office building is still dark when I park my car in my space a good half an hour later. I like being here before others. It helps me to concentrate when I don't have co-workers coming to my office for a little chat. I am the youngest in the team, and appearing professional is most important to me.

I swipe my card and wave my hand at the security guy, who is leaning against the front entrance. Paul looks like he's about to pass out at any second. I flash him a smile before heading for the elevators go to the fifth floor.

There's a pile of folders waiting for me on my desk. I sigh, knowing it will take me at least two hours to work through them. Coming here early was a good decision. I start the coffee machine in the kitchen and eat the rest of the cake in the fridge. One of our best clients is a bakery that always tries to bribe us by sending cakes and muffins to the office.

After sipping on my coffee, I feel awake enough to start working. I love what I do. Being a journalist is my dream come true. I am lucky that Mrs. Cheney agreed to give me this chance. Not many people would hire someone right out of college. She is an angel with a heart of gold.

I sit down on my chair, kicking off my heels before I grab the first folder to read through it. The name on the first page makes me frown. Aro Volturi, owner of Volterra Dining. Wait, Aro Volturi owns Volterra Dining? How horrible. I was looking forward to doing that report, but now I have to swallow back the acid in my mouth when I think of having to eat in Volturi's place. It's highly unprofessional to let your personal feelings affect your job. My mind is aware of this. My heart not so much, and deep inside I've always been more of a heart than head person.

Quickly, I read through the information in the folder. Aro Volturi originates from a small town in Georgia, where he managed to follow his father's footsteps in the hotel industry. Volterra Dining is supposed to grant exclusive Italian food and the finest Tuscan wines. There's a copy of the menu attached to the next page in the folder.

My mouth involuntarily waters while I imagine the different seafood and pasta dishes on my tongue. Whoever the Volturi asshole hired for the kitchen sure knows how to make people hungry. Mediterranean food always manages to lure me into an illusion of a warm spring night in an olive grove. I can imagine myself sitting in a tiny tavern snacking on cheese and olives while I drink a glass of heavy red wine. I am going to have the Parmesan topped Pasta Vongole when I go there for my test dinner.

Flashes of memories rush through my head. I can see myself lifting a glass of blood-colored wine against Bambi Eyes lips. She smiles at me and this smile is my undoing. Why can't I remember everything about that night? Since Jasper called me, I have been constantly starring at my cell phone like it will magically start ringing if I only do it long enough.

Jasper said he gave her my number, so she should call. Should I ask him to give me hers? No, that would make it seem like I am desperate and I am definitely not desperate. It doesn't matter whether messy Bambi calls me or not. It would be polite though to call and ask how I am. Just like it would be polite of me to send her a bottle of the wine I ravished with her so carelessly. Good wine needs to be cherished and drunk slowly, just like you would worship a lover's body during the first time you make love.

I underline one of the most expensive wines. It's not the one we drank at her apartment, but I can't find that one on the menu. Volterra Dining is a fine place but not that fine. It's fine for people who don't know what fine dining actually entails. Aro Volturi is a dazzler.

He's a bloodsucking monster. Nana's words were written with so much pain all those years ago echo in my mind. It hurts me, her pain hurts me. It tortures me to the depth of my soul that she has to live through this pain over and over again. Because she waits for Grandpa to come home from work every day and he never will. He never will again because Aro Volturi pressed the last cent of money out of him with his excessive interests.

Aro Volturi's life is the story of one success after the other. He had it the easy way. Aro was born into a rich Italian family and married into an even richer one.

My anger grows bigger and bigger the more I read about the man who destroyed my grandparents' dream. Life isn't fair. It's not supposed to be fair, otherwise nobody would ever win.

The opening of Volterra Dining, an exclusive first class restaurant is another millstone in Aro's successful career. My fingers grab the folder too hard, scrunching the pages between my cramped hands.

_Piece of shit._

Money can buy you everything. It opens doors for you that would forever be closed otherwise. It makes a lot of things easier.

My lips twitch while I sip on the rest of my coffee. It's cold now. Cold coffee tastes disgusting if it isn't topped with vanilla ice cream and whipped cream with chocolate sprinkles on top.

I want to hurt Volturi. I want to reach inside his chest and pull out the stone he has there instead of a human heart. Nobody has ever taught that man a lesson in his life. That's why he always got away with whatever tricks he was playing.

The story of his life is the story of someone trampling though other people's lives like they are meaningless chess pieces.

Someone needs to hurt him where it will cause Volturi the greatest pain, his pride. My lips curl into a lopsided grimace. Finest Italian Dining, you bastard. When I am through with you, you won't make a single dime with your fucking restaurant.

I turn on my computer and start typing. Doing this could most likely cost me my job. I smile and write; Pinot Grigio is best served at a chilled temperature, I write. Same goes for revenge I think, smiling into the computer screen while the plan in my head starts to form to life.


	5. Chapter 5

[Disclaimer] Stephenie Meyer owns everything Twilight. I own the plot for this story.

[A/N] Welcome back to a new chapter. Thanks to those of you who are still with me. I am happy to know you by my side for this ride.

I have a question for you at the bottom and would appreciate it greatly if you took a moment to answer it. Thank you and have a nice weekend, everyone.

* * *

_**Patience is bitter but its fruit is sweet**_

_(Jean-Jacques Rousseau)_

**Chapter 5**

I hate waiting. I hate it even more when someone keeps me waiting.

My left foot taps impatiently against the empty chair across from my own seat while I check my phone for another time. I sip on the glass of ice water in front of me. My other hand is pressed against my rumbling stomach. With every minute that passes by my mood sinks lower.

Being hungry is not something I can handle with a smile on my face.

Finally the door at the other side of the restaurant opens and Jasper walks in. He waves his hand at me, grinning like he just hasn't kept me sitting around here on my own like a loser for twenty-five minutes.

Moron.

"Hey, Alice." He says, dropping his leather jacket over the back of the chair before he sits down. "How's it going?"

"You've kept me waiting a long time," I snap at him, lifting the glass up to drink thirstily. "I don't like that."

His blue eyes turn small when he bends his head in a ridiculous gesture. "My apologies, Ma'am."

I roll my eyes. "Let's just order something to eat now before I start eating those plastic flowers they put up for decoration."

Jasper waves at the waiter who has been leaning half-asleep in the corner for the past few minutes.

"We'd like to see the menu. Oh and we'll have two glasses of Merlot. 2009 if you have it."

"Just one glass," I correct. "But I'd like some more water please. Thank you."

He walks off, wiping his bald forehead with the napkin draped around his left arm. I lean back in my chair and sigh. "You can write the part about the wine when we are doing our report. I don't feel like drinking right now."

He stares at my chest, then down to my hand on my stomach. "Are you pregnant?"

Are you stupid? I think, nipping on my drink again. I push the little basket with garlic bread sticks over to him. They aren't homemade. One should expect a better appetizer in a restaurant of this price range.

"I am not pregnant." I state. "You know I can't get pregnant without a boyfriend."

Jasper smirks. "There are other options, Cullen. There are always other options."

The waiter returns, his hands quivering a bit when he pours the red wine into Jasper's glass. He's nervous. That probably means he recognized Jasper from a previous restaurant review he has written.

"The wine is on the house." he stutters awkwardly while his face becomes crimson and sweaty.

We order, steak for Jasper and some Chicken enchilada for myself. Tia Maria claims to be famous for home-cooked Mexican food;and a bit of spice will be nice before we have something sweet for dessert afterwards.

Jasper swirls the wine around in the glass and holds it up against the lamp above us. "This wine looks better than it's going to taste." He takes a sip, swishing it around in his mouth for a minute before he swallows slowly. "Dry, like an ass without lube," he states. "Care to try yourself?"

I shake my head no. "I had a bad hangover yesterday, and want to stay away from alcohol for a while."

"Getting busted isn't good for your health, Sunshine. If you want to keep this job, it's necessary that you learn how to drink wine like a fine lady."

He holds the glass up to my mouth, cupping my chin in his hand. I take a tiny sip.

"Hold it on your tongue and close your eyes." He commands. "Now swallow, but slowly."

The wine is too dry. I wrinkle my nose and mumble a thank you to Jasper. He's annoying, yes. However, I doubt I can learn as much from anyone else, as I learn from him.

"So, has Swan called you back yet?" Jasper asks, playing with the thick leather cuff around his left wrist. "I bet she hasn't."

"How do you know?" I wonder, probably sounding a bit too curious. I am acting like it matters whether she calls or not. It shouldn't matter. She's just a messy woman who saw me drunk – and naked, I add, feeling my cheeks turn a bit warmer.

"She's shy. Plus she's just beginning to get over her break-up with the Barbie zombie. Lauren is such a bitch. It's a shame how Bella let herself go because of her."

Our food arrives, and I wait until the waiter walks off before I quickly take a picture of my plate with my cell. I dip my fork into the cheese crust and sigh. Cheese is simple and yet it's always a risk. If you use too much it will overpower the rest of the dish. Using the wrong kind of cheese will ruin the complexity of the different ingredients melting together.

"The poor cow died twice." Jasper mumbles. "First, when she was shot and the second time when they put her on the grill until she turned to coal."

I giggle. It's unprofessional to laugh but I can't fight the impulse. I eat a few forks of my own dish, wondering if they ran out of chili in the kitchen. The cheese crust is crisp, salty, and perfect. The food underneath though is boring and loveless.

"Tia Maria probably went back to Mexico a long time ago, running away from the awful food served in her restaurant."

Jasper grins. "That's a good line to start our report. You should write it down. By the way, I finished my evaluation about your mother's restaurant. Would you like to read it?"

I tell him yes while I push the plate away on the table unwilling to continue eating. What use is there in eating more of this tasteless food? It's not going to get any better by eating more. I start feeling bad for the waiter. It's not his fault that the food in this place sucks.

"So, Bella and this Lauren bitch just broke up?" I ask Jasper, trying to sound like I don't care about his answer at all. "Have they been together for a long time?"

Our dessert arrives and I end up eating mine and half of Jasper's caramel flan. This sweet deliciousness is definitely the highlight in this place. I will emphasize that in my report.

Jasper loves to gossip like a bored old housewife. He tells me a lot about messy Bambi Eyes. Her full name is Isabella Marie Swan. She's from Florida, two years younger than me and has been with Lauren – the bitch – for a year before things turned out badly.

"I don't want her to get hurt again." He states, running the tip of his thumb over the rim of his barely touched wine glass. "She's too sensitive for shit but her heart is in the right place."

"I am not looking for a relationship." I tell him, licking a bit of caramel from my spoon.

"You have never been in a relationship." Jasper says and I hate that he's right. Yes, I've had sex before with women. I have been out for dinner and to the movies. However, that's not the same as being in a committed relationship with someone. It is alright to hide your one-night stands from your family. It is something completely different to cover the fact that you have a girlfriend from the people you love.

My stomach clenches a bit. Why is it so awfully hard for me to get over with coming out? All I have to do is say the words, break the truth to my parents and let them know who I really am.

"I don't think Bam- I mean Bella is looking for a serious relationship either. " I mumble. "Who takes a stranger home with her, whom she picked up at a bar?"

Jasper holds his nose and gulps down the content of his wine with a look of disgust on the face. "Please spare me the details about how you two munched each other's muffins. That's gross to me."

My face turns red. I can feel my cheeks glowing in the color of shame. "We didn't. I mean, I don't remember and she said nothing happened."

Jasper wipes his mouth and grins. "Lesbians are lame. I always knew that." He waves to the waiter and pays, granting the quivering mess of a man a hearty smile. My co-worker is an asshole to people. It's like he has fun intimidating them.

On the parking lot, I bite my tongue to keep me from asking Jasper for Bella's phone number. It can't be too hard to figure it out without embarrassing myself to Mr. Insensitive.

* * *

As soon as I'm on my way back to the office, my cell starts beeping. Great, I think, when I see an unknown number flashing over the screen. "Cullen," I say, trying my best to sound like I am too bored to talk.

"Sugar, it's me." My cousin's voice greets me. "I have a new cell. Some idiot at the club stole my phone. Do you know how much that sucks? Some men in that phone are lost forever now."

"I'm sorry," I mumble. "That really sucks. How's the restaurant going?"

"We are booked out until the end of next week. So I would say the opening was a big success. Our mothers are thrilled, as you can imagine."

I am happy for Mom and Aunt Sasha. They worked so hard for making their dream of an own restaurant come true. It makes me even more proud how my mother refused to accept money from Dad for the opening. She's so thick headed. I wonder if I inherited a bit of my stubbornness from her side.

"Ali, are you still there?" Tanya asks impatiently. "I called because I was worried about you."

I hold the phone between my neck and ear while my fingers grip around the steering wheel. "I am fine. I spent the whole day sleeping in my bed after I got home." I cough and clear my throat before I continue. "Have you ever been so drunk that you couldn't remember what happened?"

"What did you do?" She asks. "Give me all the dirty details. My own love life is suckish at the moment."

A sigh leaves my mouth. I love Tanya, but she's always so curious. "I don't remember what happened."

"Why?" Tanya asks. "Did you hit your head and have amnesia?"

"I had martini with Jasper's friend and before that I had wine at home, and this yucky vodka milk that you made me drink. You know I can't handle alcohol. Her name is Bella. That's Italian for beautiful. Next thing I know is that I wake up naked on her couch."

"So, that is what your type looks like? I was always wondering what women you like."

"Tanya…," I start, hoping she will just drop the subject now.

"It's always the quiet ones. You are a naughty girl, Cullen. I knew you had it in you. Be glad my sneaky sisters didn't see you making out with her. That is not the way you want them to find out." She clicks her tongue loudly while something sizzles in the background. "So, Bella isn't Jasper's girlfriend like Iri assumed? She scores for her own team?"

"She's a lesbian like me." I say. "Do you have any idea how embarrassing it was to wake up and having to ask her what happened? She must think I am a fucking alcoholic."

Tanya laughs. I hate that she's laughing. The situation isn't anything to laugh about.

"Sugar, you are so naïve. Let me give you a tip." She laughs again. "If you have a black out, just pretend you know what happened. Get her to tell you what you did by asking casual questions. I bet you freaked and got all hysterical instead playing it cool."

"Why aren't you a police officer?" I ask. "You are so good with portraying a poker face."

My cousin curses under her breathe. "Damn it, those onions are black now instead of crispy brown. God, I hate working here, but I can't quit. It would break Mom's heart."

Tanya and I keep talking until I reach the parking lot of my workplace again. She wants me to come over to her place once I finish work for the day. I love our girl's night. Well, actually she watches soccer while I do her hair and paint our toe nails. It's fun though. There's always chocolate chip cookies and hot chocolate involved. Tanya makes literally the best hot chocolate in the universe. The whole ice from an Alaskan winter would melt away if it got to take a sip from this cocoa sugar heaven.

On my way up to my office again, I think over T's words. She's not happy working at the restaurant. Not because she dislikes kitchen work like myself, but because working with your mother as your boss is difficult. Aunt Sasha and her daughters are close. Maybe it's because she raised them without a father. Or it's because my cousins don't keep things hidden from their Mom.

I sigh, dropping my handbag underneath my desk when I reach my office. After kicking off my shoes and switching on the computer, I try to focus for a while.

It doesn't work well. First, I get called to make new coffee. I don't remember being hired as the fucking coffee girl, but since I am the youngest and newest around here, it seems like I am stuck with this job every time the fucking machine is empty.

After pouring myself a cup of coffee to get me going through the afternoon, I attempt to work again. My article for Tia Maria is shaping up nicely. The place sucked but I need to wrap that up without being too harsh. I am leaving that part of the job to Jasper. He insists the wine was disgusting and caused him heartburn. Should we warn people about that in our report?

I try to call Jasper's office to ask him, but he doesn't pick up. He's probably on the seventeenth floor again to pay Peter a visit. When I call there, no one answers either. I finish most of the article, but the part with the heartburn seems awkward to me. Wine and how it's supposed to taste like is still a new to me. I know that wine makes me do stupid things.

Every time I think about my inglorious night with Bella, my face feels like I've been out in the sun for too long. I am too warm and my heart beats faster for a while.

My cell phone doesn't show any new messages. She hasn't called yet, either. It probably means she won't.

It's my pride that is hurt about that, not my heart. Bella Swan doesn't know what she's missing out on. I would have helped her to clean out that messy place she lives in and turned it into something pretty.

I decide to start looking for Jasper. He's not in his office, like I already assumed. The creepy computer guy who works at the office across from Jazz, waves his hand at me and grins like a shark. Stupid nerd.

"Hi Milk Chocolate," he greets me and I roll my eyes. "Did the ink run out of color when God printed you?"

Does he actually think this is a good way to make conversation with me? Idiot.

"Leave me the fuck alone, Tyler." I snap, turning around on my heels so fast I stumble, almost losing my balance to fall face forward on the carpet. I head for the floor where Peter's office is located.

The secretary is nice. I chat a few minutes with Charlotte whose desk is crowded with pictures of her two-year-old son, Riley.

I tell her that he looks tall for his age and like he's smart. That is what mothers like to hear about their kids, right? Aunt Sasha is a sucker for people saying things like that about Vasili.

There are silly chuckles coming from Peter's office. The door is slightly ajar. I forget to knock just to make a point. This is an office and not a place to make out in the light of day.

Jasper's kissing Peter when I enter. It's one of those too intimate kisses that are not meant to be seen by others. Peter's hands are in Jasper's blond hair, pulling him close. I have a lump in my throat. The way Jasper holds Peter's face between both of his hands. It's the same way Dad kisses Mom when they think nobody is watching them. Love is always the same.

My heart feels too small in my chest when I realize no one has ever kissed me like that. When I get kissed, I have to focus on keeping my eyes closed. Tanya taught me that. Always keep your eyes shut because otherwise, you come off like a freak.

"Cullen,"

Jasper, who doesn't fully seem to play by the kiss with your eyes closed rule, has noticed me. I feel like I've been caught watching them.

"I was looking for you," I stutter. "You need to read through my article for the Mexican place. Can you do that now or are you and Peter too busy?"

Peter laughs. He's a nice guy who is responsible for the internet appearance of the company. I really don't get what he sees in someone as arrogant as Hale, but it's probably because I am not into guys.

I am not into guys. Maybe those are exactly the words I should be using when I finally dare to come out to my family.

* * *

**A/N:**

I would like to know apart from reading fan fiction, what other kind of lesbian books do you enjoy? Because, I find it difficult to find literature that appeals to me. Where do you go to find it? Also, when it comes to reading a story, what matters to you? Good plot? Great sex scenes? Angst? Humor? Characters, that you can relate to?

As some of you may know, it is one of my dreams to become a published author one day and I am trying to get a feeling for people's likes and dislikes in lesbian fiction.


	6. Chapter 6

[Disclaimer] Stephenie Meyer owns everything Twilight. I own the plot for this story.

[A/N] A big thank you to those of you who take the time to read and review. Your support means so much to me.

* * *

_*My family is my strength and my weakness*_

_(Aishwarya Rai Bachchan)_

**Chapter 6**

Tanya is my partner in crime.

She helps me with looking for Bella Swan's number. It doesn't mean that I actually plan on calling her once we find it but still, it would be nice to have since Bella has mine. If I get hers, I could save it in my phone under Bambi Eyes and be prepared in case she finally decides to give me a call. God, I really want her to call me. This is pathetic. I do not run after anyone, who's obviously not interested in me.

Turns out there are nineteen, fucking nineteen, Isabella Marie Swans living in this town. Tanya dares me to call the first two and pretend I am trying to sell cleaning powder. Swan two actually seems interested. Damn it. How stupid can people be?

"This is hopeless," I sigh, dipping a cookie into my hot chocolate. "There is no way we are going to find her like this. I should just ask Jasper for Bella's number and be done with it."

My cousin clicks her tongue and blows over her freshly-painted red fingernails. The color is called Italian wine and is a beautiful dark-red tone without any hint of sparkle in it. Sparkly nail polish is for hookers and teenagers who don't know any better. Tanya's words, not mine.

"I will help you to get Swan's phone number but only under one condition." She sips on her cup of hot chocolate. "You are going to call her and ask her out."

I roll my eyes and mumble a sure to my cousin. There is no way she is going to find messy Bambi Eyes among those many Isabella Swans.

Tanya takes another sip from her hot chocolate and grabs her cell. She types around on it for a minute before she dials and holds it up to her ear. Her voice comes out in a sweetly sing-along when she speaks up.

"Visa customer service, my name is Martha Harris. Did I reach the manager of Forks Delight?"

She puts the phone down on the table and turns on the loudspeaker. The girl who answered Tanya's call has an annoying voice. It's high and shrill, like that of a child with a throat infection.

"She's not in right now." Creepy voice says attempting to sound like an adult and, not a ten-year old. "Can I help you? I am her assistant. My name is Victoria."

Tanya presses her hand against her mouth for a moment to stifle a giggle. "I would like to speak to one of your employees. Her name is Isabella M. Swan."

Creepy voice, aka Victoria, clears her throat. "Miss Swan doesn't work here anymore."

"Oh." Tanya says, "That's too bad."

"Is she in trouble?" Victoria asks sounding like she would actually be happy about that. I immediately dislike that woman without ever having met her in person.

"Well it seems like she hasn't paid her credit card bills for the past three months. I would like to discuss a timely payment plan with her, but if she doesn't work at your restaurant, I guess you can't help me."

Victoria is quiet for a moment. "Would her phone number be of use for you? You won't tell her you got it from me, right?"

"Of course not, that would be perfect." Tanya purrs. "Thank you for your help."

I scrawl down the phone number, noticing that my fingers are trembling a bit. I am way more excited about this than I should be. Tanya hangs up and bursts into laughter.

"See, I really would make an awesome private eye. I love snooping around in other people's life."

"How about joining the police academy like you've always wanted to do as a kid?" I ask her, eating another cookie. There are cranberries and walnut in it. They are one of my favorites.

Tanya shrugs her shoulders. "I can't leave Mom and the others down at the restaurant. They need me there. Besides, how would I pay for the academy?"

I am about to say something about how money shouldn't be the reason to hold herself back from her dreams. But then I keep my mouth shut. Tanya is way too proud to ask Dad to lend her the money.

My cousin takes the piece of paper with Bella's number on it from the table and waves it in front of my face. "A promise is a promise, isn't it?"

"Here?" I ask. "You want me to call her right now? What do I say?"

"Call her or I'll do it for you."

I fish my cell from the table and sigh. "Can I at least have some privacy for the call?"

Tanya shakes her head no. A promise is a promise and can't be broken. The fear of getting rejected makes me feel awkward. Maybe I'll be lucky and the call will go to voice mail.

I dial Bambi's number and wait. It rings and rings without someone picking up. Then the voicemail picks up.

"You've reached Bella and Pumpkin. Leave a message and we'll call you back."

"Say something," Tanya whispers, smacking my shoulder. "Say something, Sugar."

My voice cracks. I don't sound like myself when I speak up. "Hi, this is Alice Cullen. Uhm, I got your number from…Jasper. I was wondering if you would want to drink coffee with me some time?" God, that sounds so stupid. "You drink coffee, don't you?" That sounds even more stupid. "Give me a call when you are free. Bye."

Tanya crosses her arms in front of her chest. "You are worse at flirting than Kate, if that is even possible at all."

I stuff a piece of cookie between my lips. "I would like to see you flirt with another woman. Bet you would do an amazing job on it."

She laughs. "I don't like women. They are always too dramatic for my taste. My goal in life is to have fun." She pretends to push a ring over her fourth finger. "And when I turn thirty I will start looking for a handsome, white guy to marry me and make a dozen babies with me."

* * *

It's past midnight when I drive back home again. I am tired but way too agitated to fall asleep. The amount of sugar in my blood is making me anxious. Every two to three seconds I glance down at my cell that is lying next to me on the passenger's seat. Bella hasn't returned my call. I realize that I care way more about this than I should. By the time I park the car and fish out my keys, I am determined to forget her. Nobody is worth running after. There are plenty of other fish out in the big lesbian ocean. Aren't there?

I open the front door and instantly smell the beer before I see him. There is something about the stench that cheap beer leaves in the air. Its scent is mixed with mint. Great, like that could cover up the fact that he's drunk like fuck.

"Hello Edward," I say, stepping closer to the couch. The table in front of him is littered with an empty six-pack and a full ashtray. Dad hates it when he smokes in here. My brother knows this quite well. Edward is only doing it to anger him. "You can't smoke in here." I say, taking the cigarette between his fingers to mash it out quickly. Then I open the windows in the living room and in the kitchen to let out at least a bit of the smell.

"What the fuck are you doing here, Alice?" he prattles. "I want to be alone."

"I am living here while they are fixing the water damage in my apartment." I tell him, sitting down on the other side of the couch, as far away from him as possible. He looks bad. His eyes are blood-shot. His clothes are too big on him. I'm sure he lost weight again. Alcohol isn't a good substitute for actual food.

My brother laughs, lifting a can from the table up to his mouth to drink the last drop of beer that's left. "The princess is back home, huh? " He crunches the beer can in his hand. His knuckles are dirty and bleeding. I hate how he's always hurting himself when he's had too much to drink. I hate how much his drinking habit is hurting our mother even more.

Edward tosses the beer can over the table. "I bet Mom and the white guy are thrilled."

The white guy, Edward always calls Dad that behind his face. When Dad's actually present it's Carlisle or Sir, if Edward is really pissed off at him.

"Mom would be more thrilled if you would stop drinking." I tell my brother, getting a plastic bag from the kitchen to clean up the mess he's made in the living room. I haven't been to his place in months but I'm sure there are cockroaches running around by now.

"Mind your own business." he snaps. "You don't know shit, Ali."

It is pointless to start an argument with him when he's full like that. Alcohol brings out the worst in him. Maybe it does in all of us.

"Henry? Henry, are you home, Darling?" Nana Di's voice calls from upstairs. "Henry?"

I push the plastic bag between Edward's hands. "Take that out." I tell him. "Now."

I rush up the stairs to my grandmother's room. She's sitting fully dressed on her bed. Only her shoes are still lying next to her on the mattress. "Sugar, did you see my husband? It's past seven now. He should be home."

I wrap my arm around her shoulders. "Nana, it's late. Why don't you try to sleep a bit?" I caress her hair with my fingertips. "Where's your night gown?"

She is too tired to protest. All the meds she's on are making her drowsy and less strong-minded. I help her to get changed and place her glasses on her nightstand.

"He's always working overtime," she whispers. "And he's too stupid to ask Volturi to pay him for the extra hours. Aro would probably pay him if he only asked the right way, but of course Henry is too proud for that."

"Try to sleep, Nana." I tell her, lowering my head to kiss her forehead. "You must be tired."

I tiptoe out of her room and close the door behind me. I miss her. I miss being little and having Nana bring me to bed instead of doing it the other way around. That just feels wrong.

After brushing my teeth, I go to my room and undress. When I am about to wiggle out of my underwear, my phone rings. It's buried underneath my clothes on the bed. I toss everything down and grab it. When I pick up, my voice sounds breathless. Bambi sounds sweet and nervous. I'm glad that at least she can't see that I am naked again.

"I'm sorry." Bella says. "Did I wake you? I thought I just leave a message on your voice mail for you."

"I wasn't sleeping." I tell her while I try to wrap my blanket around myself like a cocoon. "What about you? Why are you still up this late?"

She tells me that she just finished work. Her hours are crappy. "It's okay." She tells me. "I just started there. Newbies always get the bad shifts."

"Then you probably don't have much time for coffee dates with women you used to pick up in clubs?"

A light giggle reaches my ear. I wish I could see her face while she's laughing. It must be beautiful.

"Wednesday morning would be good for me."

"Perfect," I state. My heart flutters in my chest like I ran a semi-marathon just minutes ago. "Do you want me to pick you up?"

She tells me to meet her at the café she suggests for our coffee date. I've never been to the place but I'm going there to see Bella, not to discover whether the coffee there is halfway decent. Bambi Eyes whispers a shy good night. I keep my phone in my hands, even after she disconnected the call and press it against my chest until I drift off to dreamland.

My mood is excellent when I wake up in the morning. I shower and invest some extra time to straighten my hair and wrap it up into a thick knot. Tanya insists this makes me appear a bit older and more professional. I get dressed in my favorite plum colored dress and put in the silver-earrings Nana gave me for Christmas three years ago. They are one of my most favorite gifts from her, and I like it even more that they are a hand-me-down. It makes them more special. The tiny emeralds in the earrings make the green of my iris stand out. I smile at myself in the mirror and apply some more mascara and eyeliner.

"Ali, princess, are you up?" Mom calls from downstairs. I walk down to the kitchen to see she has prepared a big breakfast for me and my grumpy brother. He's sipping on a coffee mug while Mom fills his plate with crispy bacon and scrambled eggs.

"Do you want milk with your coffee, Darling?" she asks him, wiping her hands on her apron before she reaches for the milk on the counter.

"Coffee tastes best when it stays black like it's meant to be." He mumbles, taking a slice of bacon to eat it hungrily. His last proper meal has probably been a while.

I sit down across from him and mumble a thank you to Mom when she puts eggs and bacon on my plate. "Coffee without milk is gross." I state, adding some to my own cup. "Your taste buds are ruined from all the beer you drink."

"Keep your stupid mouth shut!" He snaps. "Mom, why is she here? She has her own apartment."

Mom puts the dirty pan in the sink and pours hot water on top of it. "I hate when you two fight in the morning. Ali, stop provoking your brother. He promised to stop drinking and he will. Won't you, Darling?"

She steps closer to Edward and runs her hand over his dreads. "You need a haircut. What's with the red color? It looks like a bowl of carrot soup exploded over your head."

I snort with laughter. "Maybe he was trying to dye it blond? He should have asked Irina to help him. She's a pro with hair coloring."

"Mom, can't Ali just shut the fuck up for once? My head is hurting."

He wolves down his breakfast. While he eats, he avoids making eye contact with me. I eat slowly, enjoying the way the creamy eggs taste on my tongue. Mom makes the best breakfast in the world.

The left sleeve of Edward's shirt is pushed up. I notice the gauze wrapped around his forearm. "Did you hurt yourself?"

"A dog bit me a few days ago, was a sneaky little brown _mutt_."

Mom grabs his hand and pulls it close to take a look at his arm. "Did you have a doctor look at it? Dog bites can cause nasty infections."

He takes another gulp from his coffee. Then he smiles a crooked smile at our mother. "I don't have money to see a doctor. The bitch took my last dime before she kicked me out."

The bitch, aka Jessica, is Edward's ex-girlfriend. She's a superficial, too bubbly person. I give her credit though for giving an ultimatum to my alcoholic brother. That's what he needs. Edward needs to realize that his drinking habits are hurting the people he claims to love.

Mom pulls her wallet out and pulls out some money. Edwards's stupid grin widens when he sees it. "Thank you, Mom." He whispers.

She clasps her hand around his. "Promise me not to buy beer with this again. Will you? You will stop drinking and then you'll get a job."

"I promise," He kisses her cheek and stands up from his chair. "You are the best, Mom."

Whistling cheerfully through his teeth he walks out. I shake my head. Mom is so naïve. She should know by now that my brother is a selfish liar.

"Don't tell your father," she pleads of me, stealing a leftover slice of bacon from my plate. "He wouldn't understand."

"You can't give money to an alcoholic." I tell her. "It's like going to buy the beer and vodka for him yourself."

Mom frowns. She doesn't like being told the truth about her oh-so-great son. Why are mothers like that?

"He promised to stop drinking." She states. "And he needed money to see a doctor."

If Edward were smart, he'd simply call Dad to give him a tetanus shot or whatever you need after a dog bite. Unfortunately my brother isn't smart. He's too proud to ask his unloved stepfather for help. For Edward, Dad will always be the white intruder who stole Mom away from him.

"I helped Nana to get ready for bed last night," I tell my mother. "She's always so tired and sad."

Mom nods her head. "That's from the medication. Why did you have to help her? I put her to bed before I left for the restaurant. Your brother was here to watch her in case she needed anything."

She fills some oatmeal into a bowl and adds some blueberries on top if it before she places it on a tray.

I jump from my chair and take the tray out of Mom's hand. "I'll take care of this. Do we have some more juice too? You know she's supposed to drink more."

And my brother is supposed to stop drinking completely, if he were smart enough, I think to myself while I slowly walk up the stairs.


	7. Chapter 7

[Disclaimer] Stephenie Meyer owns everything Twilight. I own the plot for this story.

[A/N] Thanks to everyone for reading and a big hug for those who take the time to review. It means so much to get feedback from you.

* * *

_*Falling in love and having a relationship are two different things*_

_(Keanu Reeves)_

**Chapter 7**

I have nothing to wear.

A pair of grey skinny jeans joins the pile of clothing that is already spread over my bed.

"How about helping me?" I snap at Tanya who is sitting cross-legged in my chair, flipping through a magazine. "I don't know what to wear for my date with Bella."

My cousin looks up, her eyes moving from my curly head down to my pink painted toe nails. "I'd wear that baby blue set from Victoria's you got the last time we went shopping. It looks good on you."

I cross my arms in front of my chest and shake my head. "What does it matter what underwear I am going to wear? She's not going to see any of it."

Tanya smirks. "Are you two going to do it in the dark? If so, I would have picked a different time for meeting up with her."

I grab one of my tops from the bed and throw it at my cousin. "I am not going to have sex with her."

"Boring," Tanya lifts her hand to her mouth and yawns. "Don't you find her attractive?"

I roll my eyes. "She is very pretty."

"Isn't she your type?" My cousin asks me. "I mean don't you think she's sexy? Doesn't she make you feel all hot and tingly...deep down below?"

I take my green sun dress out of the closet. "This will do. Don't you think?"

Tanya turns her head to my mirror and frowns at her image. "I think you are turning into a prude. Stop distracting me from topics way more interesting than your outfit."

She gets up and fishes my white cardigan out of the pile on the bed. "This one looks good with the dress."

"Thanks," I mumble, turning my back at her so Tanya can zip me up. "I just don't want to mess things up with Bella. The first impression I gave her wasn't my best behavior."

"Next time you need to eat before you have alcohol. Try fries. The fat soaks up the alcohol." She helps me to fold the clothes on my bed and put them away again. "You are nervous. That means she must be special."

"It's been a while since I had a date." I confess. I never had one with a woman who has seen me naked before I even kissed her. We didn't kiss, right?

"Stop biting your lip. It will make it look chapped." Tanya says. She reaches for my lip balm and dabs a bit of it on my mouth. "See, now you are pretty enough for doing...nothing."

"Thank you." I whisper. "I am really nervous. More than I usually am."

My cousin clicks her tongue. "Do you want to know what I do when I am nervous before a date?"

The thought that Tanya could be nervous about some guy she's going to meet seems bizarre to me. "What do you do?" I ask, expecting she's going to suggest I should have a drink.

It is out of question though. The only useful tip my English grandmother has ever given during her rare visits, was that a lady should never have alcohol before lunch.

"You should have some self-entertainment before you go." My cousin tells me. "Trust me, you do that and you will be way too relaxed to be nervous."

She hugs me and wishes me good luck for my date before she walks out, closing the door to my room behind her.

"What a stupid idea." I mumble, lying down on my bed for few minutes before I have to get up. I close my eyes, picturing how much nicer it would be if I had Bambi Eyes right next to me now. My hand glides between my thighs. Very slowly I let my fingertips move higher. My breathing gets a bit louder when I touch my cotton panty covered sex. I stroke myself gently while my free hand cups my breast through my dress. In my head I imagine my hands being replaced by Bella's. I squeeze my breast, feeling heat flush throughout my body while my fingers slide underneath the side of my panties. I am not wet. With a sigh I lift my fingers to my mouth to make them slick with moisture.

I don't care for masturbation. It's not even a tenth of how it feels like to have someone go down on me. My thumb rubs over my clit. I know my body. I know what to do in order to make me cum. I tease my clit, rolling the sensitive bundle of nerves between two fingers. The release that irrevocably follows a few minutes later is too low. It's not much more than a sneeze inside my brain that sends a flicker of pleasure through my body.

"This is a game for two." I whisper, pressing my face into my pillows. "I've never been good at playing solo."

An hour later, I arrive at the house where Bella lives. She had to give me the address again, for I was too hungover to remember the right directions. Her apartment looks different. The light that shines through the windows reflects shades of warm orange on the cherry-wooded kitchen counter. There are little flower pots with fresh herbs sitting neatly on a little rack above the sink. I can spot no clothing or even the slightest hint of dust on the floor. It smells like oranges and a bit like freshly baked cookies.

The apartment is spotless. Still, my stupid nose prickles and my eyes water. I sneeze and search my handbag for tissues. "I'm sorry," I mumble an apology to my date as she walks out of the bathroom. "I hope it's nothing contagious. I rarely get sick."

Bella smiles at me and that small upwards movement of her mouth is my very undoing. She's stunning. This is the first time I get to see her while it's not half-dark or I am not suffering from the worst hangover of my life. The morning sun brings out the red in her blonde hair. I watch fascinated how her pale skin looks radiant in the light. I can feel warmth in my face when I imagine kissing the countless tiny freckles on her shoulder blade.

"Do I look okay?" She asks me, pushing her wavy hair over her left shoulder. "I don't have much to wear that's not too big on me right now."

I look down at myself. Tanya insisted that wearing my green sun dress with a white cardigan on top would be perfect. "You look very pretty," I tell her, grabbing my tissue to sneeze into it again. My eyes begin to burn again. It's very unpleasant.

"Thank you," Bella mumbles. She turns her face to the side when red spots begin to spread over her skin. "Let me just feed Pumpkin his breakfast. Then we can leave."

The ugly cat is still as ugly as I remember it from my first visit. It's huge and orange and reminds me a bit of the cartoon character Garfield. When he jumps on the empty place next to me on the couch, I shift a bit further away.

"Be careful. Don't let him bite you." My beautiful date warns me about her carrot-furred monster. She gives me a nice view of her cute apple-shaped backside when she bends down to put a little porcelain bowl on the floor.

"Eat up as long as it's fresh," Bella tells the cat. I can feel a ridiculous wave of jealousy spreading through me when she pets the ugly cat's big head. She lifts him up and carries him over to his food. I get a second look at Bambi Eyes's butt. To me it looks good enough to eat.

"If you are ready we can leave now."

I nod and stand up from the couch. When outside in the parking lot, I open the passenger's door and hold it open for Bella. "Where to, Ma'am?" I ask, resisting the impulse to put my hand on hers even if it's just a mere second long.

"I am hungry." Bella laughs. "Would you mind if we go to a different place than we planned to? I found this awesome new restaurant yesterday. They make an amazing apple pie. I would pick apple pie as my last meal."

"Mine would be a peanut butter and jelly sandwich from my Dad." I say. "Can you give me the address of the place?"

The moment she tells me the name of the street I know I am screwed. There is only one restaurant on that street. It's Mom's. My mother has an appointment this morning at that awful retirement home where she plans on putting Nana in. Still I feel uncomfortable being seen there with my date by my aunt or Kate and Irina.

I am way outside my comfort zone and very quiet during our ride to the restaurant. While I struggle to fight off the panic from inside me, Bella next to me is in a chatty mood. I learn that she loves the new place she started working at. She tells me about some rust bucket one of her brother's friend is currently trying to get back to working for her.

"I need a car," she says. "I mean, have you seen how crappy the bus connections are in the morning or late at night?"

My fingertips tap against the steering wheel. "I don't use public transportation very often. What's wrong with your car?"

Bella chews a bit of dried skin from the middle of her lower lip. "It's just old, a Chevy truck from the late sixties. My father bought it for me when we moved to live with him in our Junior Year. I love it dearly."

I wipe my sweaty palms on the sides of my dress and force my mouth into a halfway acceptable smile. I have been looking forward to seeing Bella again for days. Now, I feel like this date has been ruined before it has really begun.

Aunt Sasha waves her hand at me from the other side of the restaurant when we enter. I swallow back a frustrated sigh.

"Good Morning, Ali Darling." She greets me, wrapping me into a hug. Behind her, holding on to her apron is my baby cousin. Vasili is already eight but Aunt Sasha always acts like he's still a helpless toddler. He smiles a toothless smile at me and holds up his new green Gameboy. The last one he destroyed was a blue one.

Little tyrant.

"Don't tell me Kate sent you to watch Vasili instead of her?" Aunt Sasha asks me. "She knows I have to meet with your mother at the retirement home. God, I hate all this paper stuff."

"Ali, are you going to play with me?" Vasili demands. "Mom, tell her she needs to play with me."

I shake my head. "Perhaps another time," Babysitting the spoiled little brat is not my favorite thing to do. Aunt Sasha doesn't set up any rules for him, and that's very dangerous for a child with Vasili's temper tantrums.

"I am here with…" I stumble, unsure how to refer to Bella. "I am here with my friend. She told me she likes the apple pie." Like any cook, my aunt is thrilled when someone compliments her work. I introduce the two of them. Sasha smiles big at my date and insists that our orders will be on the house today.

"You didn't tell me the restaurant belongs to your Aunt." Bella tells me, sitting on a chair across from me. I can't resist risking a glimpse at her cleavage when she leans forward to whisper into my ear. "Does she know?"

For a minute I consider lying. Coming out is a sensitive topic for me. "No," I respond. "I didn't feel ready."

"Oh" Bella says, giving me that pity look that people, who are out, always have for those of us still stuck in the closet. "But your parents know, right?"

"My cousin Tanya knows." I confess. "She's my best friend and so far the only one I told about it."

Her fingertips twitch. For a moment I hold my breath, thinking she's going to put her hand on mine now. It doesn't happen. Instead she tells me how she understands it must be difficult for me. It never felt that much difficult to me before her. Because I feel like she could be worth coming out to my family for. She's too cute, too kind spirited, and too easy to like to hide her.

"The restaurant is nice." Bella says; while looking around. "Your aunt did an amazing job with the interior."

"My mother is the one you need to give credit for that. She likes decorating stuff."

Aunt Sasha steps to our table, placing coffee and two big slices of the caramel crusted apple pie in front of us. "Enjoy," she says. "Your friend can have another piece if she wants it. She's too thin."

Bella sighs. "I must look bad if a stranger tells me I need to eat more."

I take my napkin and fold it awkwardly on my lap. "You are pretty. But she's right. You are very thin."

"I tend to forget to eat when I am upset." Bella mumbles, stuffing a piece of caramel-crusted apple into her mouth. I watch fascinated by how she hums; when the sweetness tickles the taste buds on her tongue. She chews slowly, keeping her eyes half closed to increase the pleasure.

"This is really good pie," she says, dipping her fork into the crispy caramel again. "Do you think your Aunt would be willing to share the recipe with me?"

I shrug my shoulders. "I can ask her if you want me to." I offer. "She's probably going to say no though. It's an old family recipe from my grandmother."

Bella licks a bit of caramel from her fork. The tip of her tongue darts out for a split second and I envy the piece of cutlery. She notices me watching her and blushes. Her face looks lovely with the tint of red in her cheeks. I need to think of ways to make her turn red more often.

"I don't need the recipe to bake something similar. My sense of taste is pretty fine. I often re-cook dishes from memory." She lifts another forkful of pie to her mouth. I like the way her lips look naturally rosy. It would be my most pleasurable challenge to turn them red and swollen from kisses.

"There is only one thing I am going to change when I re-cook it." She takes another piece of apple pie and chews it appreciative. "I would use green apples instead of the red ones."

Bella sips on her coffee. "Oh and maybe I'd try walnuts in it. Their flavor would blend well with the caramel."

Green apples and walnuts; the same ingredients my Nana used to prefer for her apple pie. Bella Swan is too fucking perfect to be true.

I open my mouth but no sound comes out of it. I need a minute to bring my frantically beating heart back to a calm rhythm. There is always that enchanting moment when you fall for a person. The moment the butterflies inside your stomach make you feel like you are trapped within the ride of the wildest, fastest roller coaster you can imagine.

"Sounds perfect." I whisper, swallowing a lump in my throat. The piece of pie in front of me is still untouched. I am way too agitated to eat now. What I would like to do is feed it to Bella, preferably while we are naked together in her bed. The thought makes me feel hot and tingly between my legs. I press my thighs together and suppress a moan.

"You are welcome to test the pie once I make it." Bella offers, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "I am just afraid it will be a while until I find time."

I stir a spoon of sugar into my coffee because I can't remember if I already added some before. "Your new job is keeping you busy?"

She nods. "I am not complaining though. It's a good position and the payment is gracious."

I push my slice of pie over to her. "Here, I have more fun watching you eat it."

Bella whispers a thank you and grants me a wide smile. She tells me about her ambition to become Sous chef at the restaurant that hired her. I don't get the point of finding it desirable to work in a kitchen, whatever position you may hold there. Working in front of the stove is always exhausting, and makes you sweaty and dirty. "Good luck." I tell Bella, smiling at her. "I'm sorry. What was the name of your work place again? I'd like to taste what you cook some time." I'd like to taste you too some time, I add in my head. My thoughts are too much in the gutter for this early time of the day.

I blame my upcoming period and the fact that Bambi Eyes is too beautiful for her own good.

"It's an Italian restaurant." She tells me, her eyes sparkling full of fire. "I love Italian food. It's so much fun to play around with all those herbs."

The way she gets all passionate about this reminds me of my mother and how she almost jumped Dad's bones in front of me and Edward when my father got her that new kitchen machine for Christmas. I hope no one is ever going to give me a piece of kitchen equipment as a gift. My reaction wouldn't be half as enthusiastic as my mother's.

"The place where I am working at now is called Volterra Dining."

I drop my cup of coffee, spilling its content all over the table. Some of it ends up on my dress, leaving an ugly brown stain on my mid-section. I am afraid that dress isn't the only thing that could be ruined by the news Bella just told me.


	8. Chapter 8

[Disclaimer] Stephenie Meyer owns everything Twilight. I own the plot for this story.

[A/N] Welcome back, my dear readers. Thank you for taking the time to read my story. It don't feel it's doing good, but hey, you can always learn from every work you write. I am sending a hug to all of you who need one right now.

* * *

_*There is only a thin line between love and hate and sometimes it seems like we are dancing on that line*_

_(Ritu Ghatourey)_

**Chapter 8**

It's the saddest day of my life. I am close to tears as I help my mother to store my grandmother's clothes and belongings into suitcases. An entire life and look how little is left of it. There are two boxes with post-it notes on it. One says "Keep it" the other one "Throw out." How about we keep Nana and throw away the stupid idea of sending her into this horrible nursing home?

"Don't make such a face, Mary Alice." Mom tells me, folding some nightgowns neatly together. "Do you think this is easy for me?"

I sit down on one of the suitcases we already packed. My weight helps to press its content down enough that I can snap the suitcase's lock together. "You are the one sending her away."

Mom grabs my wrist and holds it a bit too tight. "You are still a child. Your grandmother is sick. It's not a sickness that can be cured. It's going to get worse."

"I know," I whisper. "But this is her home."

"It's our home," my mother says, opening the drawers in Nana's nightstand. "We can't take care of Nana Di here anymore. This morning she almost climbed out of the window to check something on the roof."

I kneel down to help Mom with sorting through the pile of books, candy papers and sewing patterns. Nana always had to keep everything. She had trouble of letting go of things. The memory-eating monster inside her head is exactly like her. It has munched away my grandmother's personality, leaving behind nothing but a few crumbles.

To be forgotten by the person you love most is one of the hardest things I can imagine. The pain it causes me is unbearable. It's like losing a part of me in this. A part that consists of memories filled with scratched knees being kissed better, having someone put a folded ten dollar note into your lunch box when you already spent all your pocket money. It's having a bed to crawl into when you are scared of the monster underneath your own.

Mom is right. In a way I am still a child. A child who is unwilling to let go of someone she loves. From an adult person's point of view I understand why my parents and Aunt Sasha had to make this decision. Our house is not a hospital. It's not safe enough here. The stairs are a trap. Nana could fall down and break more than a limb this time. She could set the entire house on fire accidentally by forgetting a candle she light. When I was little she always had one standing right on her nightstand. She allowed me blow it out before sending me back to my room again.

My mother hugs me. I wrap my arms around her and kiss her cheek. It's moist with tears. I push my hand into the pocket of my skirt to fumble for a tissue.

"I am sorry." I say. "Is there anything in the drawers we need to pack? Or can we throw the stuff out?"

A postcard catches my attention. It's old. The black and white picture of the Eiffel Tower is faded and stained by some brown fingerprints in the left corner.

I pick the post card up and turn it around. The handwriting on the card is edgy. There is only one sentence written on it. "See you here in June," it says. The tiny bird wings drawn underneath the short text make me smile. "I didn't know Nana was in Paris."

Mom shakes her head. "I can't remember her mentioning it to me. Maybe she wanted to but, how would she have money for a trip overseas? She was always struggling to make ends meet."

The post card disappears under my pillow after I carry the suitcases down to the living room. Dad is going to bring Nana directly from the hospital to the retirement home. They have checked her through and added some more meds to her treatment plan. Her body is weakened. It's weak because the fire inside her has been blown out like her memories. The embers are still glowing. Now and then a single spark erupts and for a moment it's like she knows who she is again. I want to have her here at home when that happens. Those moments are too precious to waste. A stranger wouldn't be able to appreciate it. To me they are like the last rays of sunshine before the rain pours down on you. I don't want to let go of her. I hate saying goodbye.

"This morning she was clear," I say to my mother, who is chewing the inside of her mouth. "Maybe she's going to get better?"

"Mr. Caius liked his pie with some whipped cream on top of it." Nana told us this morning while Mom tried to convince her to eat a bit of a soft egg. "He had such a sweet tooth for a man."

I have no idea who Mr. Caius is. Over the years my grandmother has cooked and baked for dozens of people. "Everyone needs to eat." She used to say. "Even the meanest person has a hungry stomach that wants to be fed."

I take the post card and pin it behind the mirror on my wall. Maybe I should go to Paris in June? It could be nice. Couldn't it?

"Alice, why are you hanging behind?" My mother calls from downstairs. "Your aunt is here to give us a lift to the retirement home!"

Mom's BMW was wrecked a week ago by my idiotic brother. He is lucky he didn't end up killing himself when he and his moronic friends were aiming to arrange a nightly race just outside of town. It's a miracle Edward didn't get hurt. The only person whom he hurt was Mom and it's not because he wrecked the car, she had trusted him to return it back without a single scratch.

Soft piano sounds reach my ear. The pleasant sound of Claire de Lune is followed by several non-rhythmical loud banging noises from someone torturing the piano in our living room.

When I walk down my little cousin is sitting next to my brother in front of the piano. For some reason, Vasili is fascinated by everything Edward does. He is not the best role model for a child. Maybe the boy is acting like that because he doesn't have a father figure in his life. Edward does all the guy stuff with my little cousin. Correction, he used to do those things before the drinking got worse. Today seems to be a good day. I can't smell any beer on him when I step closer.

"You aren't listening," Edward tells the boy, taking his chubby little hand to place it above the correct piano key. "F" He pushes Vasili's finger down on the key. "Try to remember the sound."

My aunt bursts with a wave of motherly pride. "Oh he's so talented." She presses a kiss on her youngest head. "Mommy is so proud of you for learning to play the piano."

Edward closes the lid of the piano and turns to the side, facing her. "Stop kissing the boy all the time. He's not a baby anymore."

Sasha frowns. She doesn't like it when someone tells her about the way she is constantly lavishing the child with affection. Vasili doesn't seem to mind it, as long as she doesn't do it in front of his friends.

"Are you coming with us?" I ask my brother, while putting on my jacket. It's raining outside. The awful weather matches the sadness inside my heart. I can't live here anymore knowing my grandmother is never to return to this house. By tomorrow the latest, I will move back to my own apartment.

Edward shakes his head. "What use would there be in that? She doesn't remember who I am, who anyone is."

I feel tempted to tell him that he could do this for Mom. We should do this for her to show her support, whether the two of us approve of her decision or not.

During the ride to the retirement home the car is unusually quiet. My mother has stopped crying and is chewing her lower lip instead. Aunt Sasha is grabbing the steering wheel too tightly. Her hands look cramped. I am choked up, trying so hard not to break out into tears. It feels like we are going to a funeral, despite the colorful clothes we are wearing.

"We're here," Sasha whispers, pulling the key out of the ignition. "Let's get this over with."

Get it over with. Maybe that is the way to do unpleasant, painful things. It's like peeling off a Band-Aid quickly.

From outside, the place reminds me of a middle-priced hotel complex. There's even a little garden around the building. A couple of benches are standing underneath the porch roof.

There are two men in a wheelchair smoking next to the bench that is closest to the entrance. They don't look old enough to belong in a place like this to me.

My hand is sweaty as I pull down the door handle and push the glass door open. The place smells like death. The air is warm and humid. It smells like unwashed people, urine, and a sharp odor of disinfectants.

A tall ebony-skinned nurse is kneeling next to a man who is sitting on an armchair. She is holding a plastic cup with a straw up against his closed mouth. "Try to drink some more for me. Okay?"

Mom clears her throat. "Ma'am, excuse me, can you please help me look for my mother? My husband and she were supposed to already be here."

The woman looks up. She pouts. "I'm not a nurse. I am here to visit my husband." She holds out her hand. There is the biggest heart-shaped sapphire on it I have ever seen. It is a sapphire, right? Or is it some blue diamond?

"Marcus had a stroke six month ago, but he's doing much better. Aren't you, Darling?"

The man mumbles something. The left side of his face seems paralyzed. It is hard to understand him when he speaks.

"One more month," his wife, who looks young enough to be his adopted daughter, tells him. "Then those idiots I hired will be done with the modification of our house."

She bends down and kisses his cheek. "You will be home with me soon."

I don't know what to think of them. She is so young. He is so old. They look weird together.

The woman notices me staring at her husband and her for a bit too long. I look away but she forces me to raise my head again when she holds out her hand to me. "Excuse my manners. Let me introduce myself. My name is Zafrina James and this," she places her arm around the man next to her. "This is my husband Marcus."

We sit down and do small talk with Zafrina who is somehow able to understand the unintelligible words coming out of her spouse's mouth. She also helps us to find a real nurse who shows us the way to Nana's new room.

It's small and sterile. There are metal grills around the small bed. I hate this place. It's like a hospital and I never liked those. I unpack the first suitcase and manage to get half of it into the tiny closet in the corner of the room. We need to get her another one for the rest of her clothing. Aunt Sasha places a yellow patchwork blanket on the bed. Then she places a picture of the entire family and one of Nana with grandpa on it. I open the window to get the scent of disinfectant out a bit.

Mom tries to reach Dad on his cell, but it goes straight to voice mail. He probably forgot to charge it again.

I can't endure the smell inside this room. It's making me feel like I can't breathe.

"I'll wait for them outside," I tell Mom, pressing a quick kiss on her cheek. She is struggling so hard to be strong. My mother is the strongest person I have known in all my life.

"You promised me to stop!" The woman's voice is shrill. She is trying not to scream. "You promised me to stop. God damn it, Charlie. What am I to do when they throw you out of here?"

The man throws something at her. It looks like an empty beer can. "The name is still Dad, not Charlie, you useless excuse of a daughter. You are a lazy whore like your mother was."

She kneels down to pick up the can. Her heart-shaped face turns crimson when she sees me. "Alice?"

"Hi Bella," I whisper. It feels so good to see her again. Better than it should. I didn't even realize how much I missed her until this very moment. Since our date on Wednesday I have been ignoring my phone. I don't know what to do. I want to screw Aro Volturi over. I don't want to get Bella into trouble. A bad report about the restaurant would irrevocably reflect back on the kitchen crew. If only she would have picked another place to work at.

Bella grabs a plastic bag from the ground and sighs. "I need to throw this away before any of the nurses sees it." She turns to her father who is rolling the wheels of his chair back and forth. "My friend Billy here brought it. We had a party."

"You two shouldn't be drinking. Billy, you can't give him any beer. Please."

The two of them laugh. Idiots, I think. Bella looks tortured. It is like she is ashamed that I am here to witness her argument with her father.

She walks off towards the waste container. The rain makes her brown hair stick to her face. I follow her. "Are you okay?" I ask, trying to protect my own hair by pulling up my hood.

"No," she tells me. "I am not. God, I hate the way he acts when he's drunk. It's like he's a completely different person."

The rain gets heavier. We don't make it back to the lobby but manage to save ourselves from getting completely soaked by hiding under the roof of the garage next to the waste container.

"Crappy weather."

She snorts. "You want to talk about the weather? Not much nice to say about rain and wind. I love the way it makes the air smell though. " She inhales deeply, as if she's absorbing an expensive perfume.

I laugh. I don't even feel like laughing. Today is such a sad day. But when I am around her, it seems impossible not to laugh. Her presence itself seems to make me happier.

"Charlie promised me not to drink again. Then they pair him up with this moron, Billy, who doesn't give a shit whether my father can control himself when he's had a drink."

"I am sorry." I say. "I know how it's like." I sit down on the asphalt, pulling my knees against my chest. "My brother is an alcoholic."

"I am sorry to hear that." She sits down next to me and puts her hand on my left knee. It's meant to be nice. That small, innocent touch though sends a storm of butterflies up my stomach. "It's worse for my mother."

"My parents got divorced when I was six." Bella pushes her hair back behind her ears. "My stepmother Sue divorced Charlie after his accident. She said she couldn't handle the new…situation."

"Was he in a car crash?" I ask, rubbing my hands together to warm them up a bit. I don't do well with cold and my fingers tend to hurt when I am freezing.

"No," Bella says. "He used to be a cop and got shot by a robber one night. His spine is screwed up, but at least he didn't die. I couldn't—,"

I hug her. I can't even imagine how hurtful that must be to almost lose a parent. Losing my Nana to the monsters inside her brain is bad enough.

"Thanks."

I caress her hair for a moment, fascinated by the smooth silkiness of its texture. Then I drop my hands. "I am sorry I didn't return your calls. I was busy."

"Do me a favor, Alice." She states. "Don't give me lame excuses. I am a small town girl but not completely naïve." She rubs the tips of her old Chucks together. Dressed with jeans and a thick white sweater she looks younger than she already does. She is beautiful without trying. Her skin is lovely and fresh. I envy the little bit of lip gloss on the middle of her cupid's bow.

"If you wanted to speak to me, you would have returned my calls and wouldn't have made me feel like an idiot who is running after you."

"I am sorry," I whisper, swallowing awkwardly. "I should have called you back. Can you forgive me for being a jerk?"

Bella pulls the sleeves of her sweater down, hiding her hands in it. "Did I do something wrong? I got the impression our date went good and then suddenly you were so cold. I don't understand why."

"You didn't do anything wrong." I tell her. "Don't think that."

There is an unpleasant feeling of shame spreading through me. I hate that she feels like she has done something wrong. I am the one who has acted like a complete idiot. I acted like a fucking coward by trying to avoid seeing her again. So, she works for Volturi's restaurant. There are millions restaurants in this town and it's going to be easy to convince her to work somewhere else. It's going to be easy, right?


End file.
